Wish of a Princess
by GreenWallsOfArt
Summary: Young Myra Swann is constantly forced to pull the sword from the stone.  And when young Arthur pulls the sword, she flees, but ends up at the castle, where she will begin to question her destiny and see an emerging danger to her and her new friends.
1. A Miracle or a Curse

**Chapter 1: A Miracle or a Curse**

That was all that it was, to several Londoners at least- a way to free the land from the tormenting threat of war.

England was indeed a young country, with peasants selling their wares and the nobles riding their gilded carriages through the streets to grand parties in even grander, more elegant mansions. Knights would ride through the towns and hills on crusades that lasted for years at a time. But an unfortunate tragedy beheld the land some time soon.

The old king, who was known to be a wise and good ruler, passed away, much to the dismay of all the country. Several processions were made throughout in honor of his death, but none of them matched the question that all of his diplomats asked the country.

Who was the rightful heir to the throne?

Although they were most certainly not royalty, lords and noblemen rode the gates and proclaimed to be the heir, showing their riches to be "fit for a king"! No one could match the king's great fortune, of course, and thus, the noblemen went up against the country's diplomats and demanded that they be made king, or they would leave for greater countries beyond England's power. Indeed, since the king's death, not much progress was made in the foreign market on the country's part, and so trading fell further than any Englishman could imagine, without the king's good guidance. Travelers came from all over to claim their place as king or queen, but no Englishman would allow for them to make such a move against the throne. Women even offered themselves to the crown, but a woman doing such a thing was highly unthinkable, so husbands went in their places to demand the crown.

All broke loose when other countries decided to boldly attempt taking ownership of the helpless England. Of course, it was even more unimaginable to believe that England would become kin of another country, so Englishmen fought back at those trying to gain control of their land. At this point in time, it seemed that England would face its demise, by being torn apart by war. Unless, by some chance, a miracle could show its divine face and save them all.

And then, in London, something happened that no Londoner had ever seen before. In a city square beneath the steeple of an enormous cathedral, in the midnight hour, a ray of light shown down from the heavens, coating the square and all nearby in its holy glory. In fright, several people raced to the outer perimeter of the square, but they all stopped suddenly when something different started to happen. For in the center of the square, was a large stone, on which was set a midnight-black anvil. And from the heavens, when there came a little shower of sparkly dust, a beautiful sword materialized before the eyes of almost everyone in London, set inside the anvil. It sparkled with a great heavenly glow, its golden hilt shining like a new penny. And the instant the miracle occurred, messengers were sent throughout the country to tell all to come and set their eyes on the marvelous sword.

Soon enough, thousands upon thousands of men were lined up to pull the sword from the stone. They all had prepared for a show of great strength and power, but they were all disappointed in the end. Not a single man had been able to move the sword, not even budging it an inch. Throughout the millions of men that had touched and tugged on the sword, not one had moved it from its exact place the night the miracle happened.

All through those years, England remained without a ruler, and not many more men came to try the sword. In fact, they stopped coming altogether, and many of those who tried it looked at the sword with scorn and disdain. Pulling that sword would fulfill a man's greatest dream, and the miracle was a failure. And so, the sword was left for another set of years without another try, and England without a king.

More years passed, and a kind of disorder came around that no one expected after the miracle. Men lived in fear that an uprising would soon come, and that the country might slowly come to its end.

A dark age, and all because of the message the sword had brought to England in gilded letters below its hilt: "Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king, born of England."

**_SEVERAL YEARS LATER..._**

Another crying sound came from the bedroom down the hall. With a deep sigh, Myra Swann put down the dish she was washing and followed the sound. Tabitha had been doing that a lot these days. Maybe it was the shortage of milk in the cottage. The peasants who owned cows usually kept the milk to themselves, and Myra was frustrated by that. Simply because England had no king, that didn't mean they could hoard their goods for themselves. Everyone had to work together, especially to ensure a good future for little ones like baby Tabitha.

But it wasn't as though Myra could go out and help the farmers and such peasants herself. Her father, Amos, was at work in the shop, and so she had to stay and take care of the house and Tabitha. At twelve years old, she knew how to do things that only men and young women knew. She could spin her own yarn and make clothes for the family, and even a little bit of metalworking.

Myra was, in all aspects, a smart girl, but she wasn't under such circumstances to use her brains. From a young age, she had been forced to become the mother figure of the cottage, working day and night to ensure the roof she lived under, and especially her family, was kept orderly and safe. It was her duty; for the sake of her family.

Over time, Myra had gradually built herself up for hard labor, but she still hadn't healed internally. Just over a year ago, right after Tabitha was born, Myra's mother had gotten very, very sick. She raged a terrible fever, and she couldn't leave her bed for days. And then, that winter, Myra was awakened to the horrible news that her mother was dead. Without her even knowing it, she was going to play mother to Tabitha and her home.

It certainly didn't help that Amos worked all day and could not give time to console Myra on her newly acquired role. Amos was the sort of man who took life as a serious matter, and did not wish to waste time lamenting for something. He always told Myra that because she was alone, that was no excuse for tears and wishful thinking. She had to be strong. After all, she was living how she would live when she was grown up. Might as well get used to it, that's what he said.

"And give Tabitha something. That crying is giving me a headache I'll feel when I'm a hundred years old."

He said that every night at supper. And quite frankly, Myra didn't like his tone of voice. He talked about Tabitha like she was some kind of dirty animal that had to be exterminated quickly. What trouble did she cause him when he was never around?

On one of Amos's good days, Myra would have asked him why he thought of Tabitha that way. But on his bad days, Myra never dared open her mouth.

Now, as Myra crossed to Tabitha's cradle, she frowned sympathetically as her ears registered the melancholy wail of her baby sister. The dark-haired child was tossing and turning in her thin blanket, causing her cradle to creak, sounding more like a screech.

"Shh, Tabitha," Myra said gently, picking her up. "You cry anymore and the people across town will hear you. I think they might even be able to hear you…" She looked down at the baby's squishy bottom, and on cue, Tabitha let loose something down there, and she suddenly began to giggle, turning to a squeaky laughter.

Myra rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Oh, Tab, what will I do with you?" With a sly finger, Myra crept her finger up the child's stomach, and wiggled it against her skin. Tabitha laughed harder with the tickling and clapped her hands happily together.

That was truthfully one of the happiest sights of Myra's life. Tabitha was annoying sometimes in the way she dropped waste into her clothes unexpectedly, but she was a sweet thing to have in these dark times. During the day, when there came the rare opportunity to play, she was a wonderful companion for hide-and-seek in the yard. The child's laughter was musical to Myra, and she hoped to never lose her; not to the disease that had killed their mother.

"Come on, Tab. Let's clean you up and prepare supper," Myra said, the way a mother would to her child. She then carried Tabitha into the kitchen to clean her clothes and fetch her outdoor shoes.

Within fifteen minutes, Tabitha was sitting on the table with her blanket and clean clothes, and Myra heating water over the stove for supper. She planned to make Amos his favorite that evening, for she hoped to ease him into asking some questions that he would likely find pesky.

Despite the good mood Tabitha had put her in, Myra was dreading the evening. Not just because she was worried about what Amos's reaction might be to her interview, but of her last chore after dark, when everyone was at home in bed. As well as everyone else, she knew that England had been without a king for years, and that the miracle had been no good; Amos told her the story so much that it oftentimes came back on its own to haunt her, like it did before Tabitha started crying. But in the words of her father, that was all in the past. This was a new time, and someone new could try for the miracle to happen.

Myra always told Amos that she doubted his beliefs that the marvelous sword in the stone was still capable of crowning the next ruler of England. Nonetheless, he wouldn't give up in telling her what she would do, for her family's sake. Tonight, she would sneak out, and try, time and time again, to pull the sword from the stone. And she would keep on trying until she would pull it loose and release the miracle's intended power, making her queen of England.

And if she didn't get it out tonight, Heaven help her.


	2. Impossible

**Chapter 2: Impossible**

Myra finally poured the broth into three separate bowls, set out with the works of the meal- bread, apples, and a cold jug of milk; all fresh. Myra wiped her forehead with the heat radiating from the stove, but she was proud of her work. Fresh bread and apples were hard to come by in their village, so she hoped against hope that Amos would appreciate that. With the interview she planned, she wanted her father to be as calm and happy as possible. While that wasn't exactly likely, when they were nearly destitute and could be stuck with no king for several more years to come, Myra tried to stay optimistic. To her, this position was precarious.

Finally, she set the silverware on the table, and Tabitha in a high chair she and Amos built for her when she was born. The child cooed hungrily when she watched her sister cap the boiling pot of broth, and stand there with a proud smile. Myra was ready to please Amos when he came in. But she was also ready to argue if things didn't go as she planned. Perhaps when dinner was over, life would be different for them all; Myra was set to make it happen.

For several moments, the only movement in the space was the sun setting on the snowy horizon.

"Hello, little girls, where's dinner?" a voice suddenly said into the cottage. At the sound of her father's voice, Myra rushed to him, and gave him a hello hug. He only gave her a gentle tug back and then pushed her away. Setting his coat on the rack near the door, he glanced at the pot in the stove.

"What'd you cook tonight, Myra?" he asked the wall.

"Your favorite, Papa. Gode broth," Myra answered proudly, "with fresh bread to transform the broth as you please."

Amos turned around and noticed the meal on the table. His lips stretched as he noticed the apples and Tabitha bouncing in her chair. "You even added apples. Very nice, Myra." Immediately, he sat down and retrieved his spoon from the side of the bowl. With loud, ravenous slurps, he gobbled up the broth and gobbled down some bread and apples. The crunching was loud, but Myra was pleased enough.

Myra sat down next to Tabitha, and helped her sister slurp up her broth before Myra started on hers. She was anxious too. Gode broth had lots of chicken and salt and elegant saffron- delicacies that peasants couldn't purchase too much in these times. And it was truly delicious. It tasted even better to see Amos inhaling it as he was.

"Did you have a good afternoon at the shop, Papa?" Myra asked cheerfully.

"Did I have a good afternoon?" Amos looked up from his broth. "Did I have a good afternoon, Myra? Well you just tell me that yourself. Is there a royal knight asking for a sword from my shop? Are there warriors asking for shields? Other such peasants for tools-" he stood up from his seat and looked down at Myra "-when there is no _king_?"

Myra froze in her seat. She hadn't planned her father to get upset about one little question. She hadn't even gotten started on her real questions yet.

"Please, Papa. I didn't mean-"

"You didn't mean, what?" Amos asked, glaring at her. "Didn't mean to upset me when this business of working day after day to make more things that no one will buy is not working? Can't you see, girl? Are you blind? This country having no ruler is tearing me apart! And you are not helping!"

Myra stayed still in her seat, preparing to begin. "I can see that," she said bravely. "Now, look, Papa, about the sword-"

"Yes, Myra, you know what you will do tonight. And you also know what will happen when we have that sword. You will be queen, and our family will have marvelous food and warm beds the rest of our lives!"

"But-"

Amos stood over Myra, so tall that she began to cower in her seat. "Don't oppose me, Myra. You know our money is low. No one is buying anything. _Nothing_. The country has gone on long enough without a ruler. Do you know how awfully I want for you to be queen?"

"What?" Myra challenged. "That you will have all the riches in the world and won't have to worry about coming home to _this_?" She gestured around the cottage, at the peeling walls and decaying furniture.

Amos didn't speak as he observed the space. He shook his head. "Myra, child, winter is a hard time. If you don't pull yourself together soon, we will starve. Christmas is only two days away, and I feel horrible not being able to provide the festivities for my family. Don't you remember those holidays we used to have before your mother died? Don't you want to have those again before something even worse happens? Do you?"

"Well, yes."

"Then, what are you doing waiting for someone else to pull the sword? No one will hand it to you! The miracle dictates otherwise. And I will not stand around for you to ruin our family for your own selfish reasons!"

Myra's breathing was speeding as her father's spit flew in her face. Clearly, this wasn't going to happen the easy way. She would have to resort to her argument, because just asking her father if she could stop going to the sword wasn't going to be near enough.

"You don't understand, Papa," Myra said. "Did you hear about the other men that tried to become king because of the sword? No one- _no one_- has moved the sword a bit. It's completely stuck inside the anvil. And if big, grown men can't even move the sword, how can I? I'm strong, but all I can do is lift heavy buckets of water, and stir thick broth for hours just for you. I can't move a sword that strong knights have tried for days to pull. It's _impossible_!"

Amos's eyes went wide and his face turned crimson. "Don't you dare make excuses to me, little wench!" he roared, making Tabitha start to whimper. "That sword will be moved. Those men just wanted to show off. You have a good reason for pulling the sword, and you will do it. No matter what it takes, Myra, you will be the one to pull it from the stone. I will see to it." His eyes wandered to the tools in the corner, where Myra noticed the cottage axe lying on its side. The blade gleamed in the window's snowy glare.

She gasped, and almost fell back in her chair. The crescendo in her voice scared Tabitha so that she finally started crying. Quickly, Myra straightened herself and picked up the baby from her chair. Bumping her up and down in her arm, Myra tried her best to calm her sister, but Amos only made it worse by pointing his finger jarringly hard in her chest.

"See? You only made the baby cry!" he accused, flecking spit in her face again. "Make that thing stop right now!"

"'That thing'?" Myra asked, appalled. "Is that what she is to you? A _thing_? Papa, she's my sister. And your baby daughter. I can't believe I'm listening to you say this!" Then, something in Myra began to flare, like a fuse on a firecracker. And finally, looking back and forth between her sweet sister and her greedy father, that fuse seemed to get bigger, and bigger, ready to explode.

She took a deep breath through her nose, and stepped closer to Amos. "Papa, do you see that broth over there? I worked all afternoon to make you that! I work all day to make you happy, and you never thank me for it. Doesn't it make you happy that I'm at least here to make sure you don't die too, like Mama?"

Amos gasped, and grabbed Myra's face in his meaty, callused hands. He looked her right in the eyes, with an intensity that frightened her beyond belief. "Don't speak about her when I'm here, you hear me? And I believe that broth will be so much better when servants are cooking it for me! I think you want that as much as I do."

Myra pulled away. "I knew it! You don't care about me and Tabitha. All you want is to have your precious sword and all the gold that the castle can have. You and I both work hard so that we can live! That should be enough for you, because it's enough for me. We don't need the sword to be happy, and what do I keep telling you? The sword will…not…MOVE! No one can move it! AT ALL!"

"_MYRA_!"

Immediately, Myra stepped down, and was quiet.

"If you ever make an excuse again, you have better shut up, before I slap you silly!" His voice was low and deliberately slow, his eyes turning to look at the axe.

Myra shook her head, trying to hide her fear. She didn't want to believe that her own father would use an axe on her. He was blinded, she realized. He was blinded by his desires to attain the sword, and he would do anything to get it. What happened to the father that she knew before disease took her mother? Who used to play with her all evening when he returned home from work, and gave her hugs and kisses before bedtime? Where was he now when she needed him? When Tabitha needed him?

"Now, clean up dinner, and go to bed," Amos growled, leaving for the bedroom opposite Myra and Tabitha's room. When the door slammed, Myra felt the heavy tension resting on her chest. She had tried to argue with him, make him see her point of view on pulling the sword. She even had the nerve to bring up her dead mother, and not even that had managed to shift his opinion. If that didn't, what would?

Myra sighed, cleaned up the broth bowls, put out the stove, and picked up Tabitha again to leave for their room. The baby was surprisingly quiet, and Myra was glad for that. The very, very last thing she needed was for Tabitha to have a crying fit, especially when she was feeling a needle's width away from crying herself. Besides, she would need her sleep for when she got up in an hour or two to perform her impossible chore. The _worst _impossible _punishment_, it seemed.

_**That night...**_

Myra crept through the streets that she now knew by heart, ever since she used them to find the sword; the broken down house there, the cobbler's shop there, and even the snow-drifted inn on the corner. Myra didn't make much note of all that this time, mostly because the icy winter wind was blowing her dark brown hair in her face, and she was eager to reach the sword and get this over with. She didn't dare look at the Christmas decorations adorning the houses; they held too many memories that she knew she would never have again. Not with her father, not with Tabitha, not anyone.

Finally, she came to the bent-up fence surrounding the churchyard where the sword stood, like a melancholy statue that no one gave much mind to. She slowly jumped the fence and stepped up to the anvil. Like always, she rolled her sleeves away from her hands, and reached for the handle. She knew that maybe she should feel glorified holding the marvelous sword's handle, but to her, it was like holding the rusty handle of a worthless knife someone had given her; she was stuck with something that was once so adored by others forever.

Why am I even here, she asked herself. Why should I be here when I know that I'll never pull this sword from the stone? This is meant for greater people. Not me.

But still, Myra knew she had to do it. Her family- her father- was counting on her. _Remember Christmas_, Amos's voice rang in her head like a church bell. No, she would not give up on it. She would do it for Tabitha, who deserved this. Not for her father; never for her father.

So, with the greatest strength she could muster, she gripped the handle, and pulled as hard as she could. Not even a smidge of movement from the blade! Again, she pulled. Still, no movement.

As with every night, Myra pulled and pulled, trying every which way to pry out the sword, anything to make it move.

And like every night, Myra walked away from the sword, giving it one last look of anger and dislike, saying the four words that made her shed a bitter tear.

"I can't do it."


	3. Ordained by Heaven

**Chapter 3: Ordained by Heaven**

For the days that passed after that night, Myra felt miserable. After Christmas, she found it much more bearable to walk in the streets now that the decorations were being taken down. Not that she was around in the streets that much, but she was happy to see things going back to normal in town. She felt like she was resigning her life to pleasing her father, and that she would never walk in the happiness of childish ordeals like Christmas again.

On the other hand, there was a new kind of excitement in the air, and it carried throughout all of London, and into the surrounding cities. On New Year's Day, there was going to be a tournament, where the best knights in the country would battle and joust to win the ultimate title: king of all England. Myra frowned at such an idea. All this time, they let England rot when they could have done this right when they realized that the miracle wouldn't work. It made her enraged, on top of what she felt about her father lately. It didn't even lift her spirits that everyone would be off work for the tournament. That meant that after that day, the miracle would never come up, Myra would never be queen, and her family would be done for. Images of the axe were all that rolled through her mind, and actually, it was quite tempting for Myra to not come back to the cottage. Only when she thought of little Tabitha did she turn around for home.

Throughout the days leading up to the tournament, Amos talked about nothing but the sword, and Myra's incompetence in completing her task- her sole task when he asked so little of her, he said. Myra felt like screaming and breaking something she was that angry at him, but she knew better. If she so much as cracked something, she could be slapped. Each day was Amos rising to a new level of anger, and Myra was beginning to contemplate escape more each time she saw him grimace at the people heading to London's center. They were gathering for the tournament, and all in the cottage could feel the excitement growing. But it left a negative atmosphere all throughout.

Finally, early on the day of the tournament, Amos sent Myra out for one last try at the sword. He sent her out with a shove, warning her of the future if she didn't succeed this time. The very thought made her knees weak and her palms sweat. And quite honestly, Myra felt the substantial urge to run if she didn't do it. She couldn't face her father without the sword in her hands, and not even she could fathom such a thought. So, to keep her mind off these troubling thoughts, she just walked around, avoiding any eye contact and any urge to walk towards the churchyard. She only wanted to be alone in the last hours of peaceful quiet before her life might be over.

And so, Myra walked the streets so much that she must have passed the same places at least five or six times, and she was still willing to do so again; anything to keep her from walking to the sword soon.

Unfortunately, she was so bent on forgetting the sword that she accidentally bumped into a tall knight walking past her. He stumbled a foot or so in front of Myra, and he turned to glare at her.

"Hey, watch it, will ya?" he said, his face scrunched tightly into a frown. His wiry red hair framed his face, and with that frown, he wasn't too attractive. Myra would have winced at that horse-shaped face, but she only put on a sorry face, and mumbled her apologies.

The stout man beside the knight patted him on the back and said, "Come on, Kay. We're going to be late! Hop it, Wart, you heard me!" He had turned and was speaking to a boy walking on the other side of the knight. The boy was half the knight's height, dressed in a baggy red robe, which barely exposed his stick-like legs. His head was topped with messy blonde hair, and it moved gently with the winter breeze. He looked like he might fall over with the equipment he was carrying, stumbling about every few steps.

"He looks a little small to be a squire to a brute like that knight," Myra said to herself, and she felt just a mite sorry for the boy. He looked a little unsure, like he was nervous of what would happen to him if he made a wrong move. Perhaps like I've felt the past year, Myra added mentally, before she watched the trio get lost in the crowd of tournament-goers.

Myra let herself get lost in the crowd, somehow enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by so many excited people. Part of her even began to wish she could go to the tournament, but she quickly fixed that. She was far more interested in being alone with her thoughts than watching someone accomplish her mission ahead of her. The thought still left crushing weights on her chests, and they drove her out of the crowd as she heard the starting announcement: "For the crown of all England, let the tournament begin!" followed by the sounds of whinnying horses and cheering spectators.

When the last few people had gone, Myra walked around a side street before she found herself walking towards the churchyard. Now that people were gone, why not begin trying while everyone was gone? No one would dare set their good sight on a girl trying to pull the sword; the thought alone was ludicrous enough to maybe send people into fits of laughter. The sword's message did specifically say king, but since when did Amos care about that? He wanted the riches and money more than the glory of being king, it seemed.

Well, there it was. The sword, wedged as deep into the anvil as it ever was. Myra had never seen the sword in broad daylight before, and truly it was beautiful, glowing in the glare of the snow. It almost seemed like it really was a heaven-sent savior to England, and Myra momentarily forgot her disdain for the sword.

Myra jumped over the fence, and once again, wrapped her fingers around the handle. With another push of strength, she pulled and tugged, but not a bit of movement. Not that she was at all surprised, but her arms started to pump hard up and down to try and just get that sword out. This was her last chance, so perhaps she should put more effort into it than she ever did. I won't remember Christmas, Myra thought, I'll remember Tabitha. With that thought, she grasped the handle like it held her life, and she tugged so hard that she thought her arms would come out first. They hurt by now, of course, but nothing seemed to stop Myra from letting go.

"Let me in! Let me in!" she suddenly heard a voice cry out. Gasping, Myra turned her head and spotted the same blonde-haired boy from the street at the inn door. He was tugging at the door handle, and knocking hard, but no one came. "Somebody, please! Please, let me in!"

Instead of answering him, Myra jumped from the churchyard, and hid behind a building at the corner of the street. She peeked out behind it, and waited for the boy to leave so she could continue her task. But for several seconds, all she heard was the boy's voice, like he was talking with someone. But she was even more surprised to watch the boy run to jump the fence of the churchyard, followed by a little brown owl.

What could he be doing trying to pull the sword? Myra thought. He can't even carry a knight's helmet down the street without stumbling. Myra's shock was so immense that she felt like laughing, but she kept her mouth shut so as not to interrupt on this strange scene.

The boy rolled his sleeves back from his hands and jumped onto the anvil to grab at the sword. But the moment that he touched the sword, the churchyard was suddenly bathed in light from above, making the snow glow all around the sword and the boy angelically. Both Myra and the boy had the same reaction- they glanced upward and then jumped backwards in surprise into the snow. And when the boy took his hands off the handle, the light gradually faded away to nothing. He just stood and stared at the sword before he slowly put his fingertips on the handle. Even then, with so small a touch, the light returned to transform the churchyard into an angelic haven. Myra could only stand still, watching in wonder as the boy took his hands away one last time, and then, with a determined shake of his head, leapt onto the anvil and practically hugged his arms to the sword. There was a musical _shing! _in the air as the boy stumbled away from the stone, which was now empty.

Myra blinked twice when she saw the anvil. The holy light was still fading away, but that was not what she was in awe of. The boy had disappeared, and the anvil was bare. That…no, she thought. It couldn't be…

The boy- the raggedy beanpole of a squire- had pulled the sword from the stone! The miracle had worked after all!

To Myra, time suddenly slowed. For minutes, or hours, she didn't know how long, but all she could do was stare at the bare anvil. Slowly, her legs gave way, and she gasped when she bumped against the snowy ground. The cold didn't startle her, because she could feel her stomach churning and her limbs start to shake. She couldn't even feel herself anymore in her disbelief of what she had witnessed, and her emotions became a roaring vortex inside her. Awe in seeing the light spotlighting the miracle's final stage, happiness in the fact that the miracle really wasn't a dud after all, and then a little bit of jealousy and confusion. How could have grown men spent hours trying to get the sword out- how could _she_ have spent a year's worth of nights pulling until her arms could've fallen out- when this boy, no bigger than her, accomplished it after only a few tries? This kind of thing just didn't happen. It…it couldn't!

Myra's thoughts were interrupted when she heard shouts and loud footfalls coming from the direction the boy had left. She stood back up abruptly but kept her eyes visible and on the crowd coming. It was all a bunch of men waving their flags and their hats up in the air, led by the stout, fat man from earlier and the tall brutish knight that had bumped Myra. She gasped when she noticed that the fat man was holding the boy by his scarf as they walked, almost by his scrawny neck. Myra was too shocked by that to wonder what was happening, although she did see that the crowd was heading for the churchyard.

The crowd dispersed around the fence, while the big man, the horse-faced knight and the boy jumped the fence to the stone. Myra stood on her tip-toes to see the action behind the fence, but she couldn't see over the heads of the tall tournament-goers. Breathing deeply, she dashed into the crowd and pushed through to the fence despite the groans and shouts for her to get lost.

From her newly acquired view, Myra gasped unexpectedly when she saw the sword, back inside the anvil. The boy was walking up to it, everyone's eyes on him. Hesitating a second, he then rolled up one sleeve and reached for the sword. But the brutish knight had caught up to him, and grabbed the boy by the arm, pulling him back.

"Now, wait a minute!" he said, "anyone can pull it once it's been pulled." But when he pulled on the handle, the sword didn't move. Even with both hands- all strength used- on the handle, there was still nothing; no light, no miracle.

After that, it went into chaos as men gathered around the sword, trying to help pull it out. Not even their combined strengths could pull it, even with the rest of the crowd shouting at them. Myra covered her ears, trying not to scream with the noise, and her growing impatience with this crowd.

Finally, a gray-haired man and a knight with a black mustache stepped into the churchyard, waving their hands in the air for attention.

"I say we let the boy try it," the old man said firmly.

"That's what I say," said the black-mustached knight. "Give the boy a chance."

The boy looked around at his supporters uncertainly, but in looking back at the waiting crowd, his face scrunched in determination, and he stepped back up to the stone. Myra held her breath in anticipation of the heavenly light, not a muscle moving from her; much less from everyone else around the churchyard.

The boy touched the sword. This time, tiny sparkling balls, like fireflies, floated around the churchyard as the light touched down. And finally, with a lurch of his whole body, the boy pulled the sword from the stone, as everything around the churchyard turned a golden color, coated by the sparkling balls and magical warmth.

"It's a miracle," Myra heard someone say. "Ordained by heaven, this boy is our king!"

"What's the lad's name?" another asked the stout man.

"Wart," he answered. "No, uh, I mean, Arthur."

Arthur, Myra thought. That's not a bad name…for a king, now at least.

"Hail King Arthur!" the crowd began to shout. "Hail King Arthur! Long live the king!"

Myra should've been swept away by the excitement. After all, a new era was beginning because England finally had a king; a king her age but a king nonetheless. And with that new king, there would never be a chance for Myra's family to gain riches; or more like her father to gain that.

With her thoughts driving her into sadness, Myra left the crowd. She was feeling that same vortex of emotions from earlier, especially confusion. The sword had been pulled, and exactly how could she relay that news to her father? He would surely kill her if she came home without his prize. And what would happen to Tabitha? Oh, my goodness, Tabitha, she realized. News like this would trigger more than death, they would trigger neglect and hunger in the house. And surely by such means, Tabitha wouldn't live either.

Myra collapsed against the building next to her when she realized this. This situation was worse than she thought. But, really, what should she do? Should she go back and risk her life, or wait until late at night to go back home for Tabitha?

Myra was afraid to think of it, but for a moment, she considered the notion of getting Tabitha, and then never returning home. It would be hard, but Myra knew it was probably the best thing to do. If this was the old days and her mother was still alive, Myra would've considered going back and asking for forgiveness. But she was older; she understood better. To Amos, not retrieving the sword was something worthy of death- a merciless death. Already, Myra pictured the axe in the corner, seeming to prepare for her to touch its blade; first her, then possibly Tabitha. The thought made her stomach twist.

That was it. Myra planned to wait back in the churchyard once everyone had gone, and then return home for Tabitha. No matter where they would go, she knew that anywhere was better than London, where these memories would more easily haunt her forever.


	4. Into the Night

**Chapter 4: Into the Night**

It felt strange, and yet so homey, to Myra to sleep next to the stone. She lay on her back in the dead grass, looking at the sky, which had cleared since that afternoon. Instinctively, Myra reached her sleepy hand to the top of the anvil, which seemed smoother without the sword. She felt both excited and anxious at the same time when she felt it, glad that her task was over, and that there was now a king. But she was scared of getting Tabitha when she returned home. Tabitha wasn't a heavy sleeper, but she could cry pretty loud if she sensed danger.

With that thought, Myra hoisted herself up from the ground, and made her way home. The streets were quiet, illuminated only by the silver moon overhead.

Finally, Myra came to the front door of the cottage, which she slowly eased open to minimizing creaking, which often happened. She felt her way along the wall to the stash of candles she kept in a basket next to the stove, but she decided quickly that it would be better to get to Tabitha and escape as fast as they could without any hassle.

Her heart pounding, Myra slowly felt her way, making such careful movements she was practically walking on eggshells. It took her several moments to find the door, but she pushed it open slowly enough that not even a mouse would scurry from it. She took Tabitha's cloak from on top of the cradle, and tucking it under her arm, she prepared to wake Tabitha.

Wiggling her fingers against her sister's stomach, Myra held her breath as Tabitha wriggled under her blanket. Her eyes suddenly opened, and then she was still.

"Hello, Tab. It's me," Myra said, squatting down so that Tabitha could see her face closer. "You ready for a little adventure?"

Tabitha cooed, if a little loudly.

"Shh," Myra said gently. "Come on, let's get you into your cloak, and then we'll get some food. You want something?"

Tabitha laughed as Myra slipped her into her cloak, picking her up in her arms. Carrying her into the kitchen, she then placed Tabitha on the floor as she scurried around. Taking a large tablecloth, Myra filled it with rations of bread, apples, and vegetables, tying the cloth closed. She stuffed the tablecloth into a basket, alongside a jug half-full of water, and taking a second basket, placed Tabitha's blanket and pillow inside it.

Myra crossed to the table for Tabitha, who was beginning to whimper a little.

"It's all right, Tab," Myra whispered. "We'll be out of here soon. Don't be afraid."

Tabitha began to babble in her sweet baby voice, wriggling her limbs violently.

"What is it?" Myra asked, nervous.

Tabitha repeated herself, only louder.

Reacting quickly, Myra grabbed the jug of milk from nearby, and poured some in a bowl, trying to calm her sister. But as Myra placed the bowl in front of Tabitha, she whacked it away from her with her tiny hand, starting to cry.

"Come on, Tabitha, not now!" Myra said through gritted teeth. Quickly, she thrust Tabitha into her basket, and grabbing their food, walked fast to the door. Now, the room suddenly seemed darker and more sinister, like it was gradually closing in on them. Myra's breathing sped up, and even as she shakily tried to push the door open, she couldn't find the strength to calm herself. Maybe this was a stupid idea after all, what with Tabitha getting upset and the baskets starting to feel heavier with each step she took. But as the door slowly closed behind her, Myra began to feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. She was nearly there; she just had to step off the property and they'd be halfway there.

A sudden cry pierced the air, and Myra yelped when she recognized Tabitha's cry. Closing her eyes in frustration, she put down the baskets and picked up Tabitha from her basket. Bumping her up and down in her arms, Myra's face began to feel hot, beads of sweat starting to form on her temples and hairline. Her hand on Tabitha's bottom suddenly felt something hot and slimy drop, and Myra bit her tongue to suppress a yell of aggravation as Tabitha continued to cry.

"Not, now, Tabitha!" Myra grunted, shoving her sister back in the basket. "We have to get away from here, right now!"

"Myra! Tabitha!"

The voice sent Myra's heart up into her throat, and she struggled to hoist herself and the heavy baskets off the ground. The heavy footsteps in the cottage made her stomach twist painfully enough that Myra was scared to move, although her mind was screaming at her to run!

Just when she was standing again, Myra just felt the graze of rough hands grabbing her ankle. She ran with all her might, feeling the heaviness of her steps in her legs, and the ominous thunder of footfalls behind her.

"Come back here, thief!" Her father's voice only drove her faster through the snow, and Myra's heart burned like fire through her chest. She wasn't going back to him, when he could hurt her and Tabitha. Anywhere was better than the prison that he had transformed their home into.

"Myra! Give me the sword!" he shouted, and above his words, Myra heard the terrifying _shing! _of a blade in the air. The axe, she knew, and Myra felt her legs burning under the pressure to escape the demonic weapon. The darkness around her seemed to shift, and she could see, ahead of her, the candle-lanterns of something moving.

That was it!

Pushing her jelly-like legs faster, Myra raced for the light at the end of the street. And all the while, she was brewing something in her mind. She smiled before she turned onto another street in sight of the light, and stayed there.

When her father turned the corner, Myra made a loud yelping sound, and he swung the axe her way, Myra ducking out of the deadly path. The axe took a second to dislodge from the windowsill Amos struck, but Myra was already down another part of the street. She stayed where she was, in front of the thick wooden door of another house. As her father caught up to her, she took the water jug, and spilled it on the cobblestones.

"Don't move!" Amos shouted before he swung the axe, loud and quickly, through the air. Myra threw herself out of the way, pushing Amos to the ground with a swing of her basket. Running, she heard him slipping on the stones, struggling to retain his balance. Myra grinned in satisfaction as she turned onto the street she had seen the lights go.

When she caught up to the light, she saw that it was a carrier's wagon, with stones and wood inside, lanterns lighting up the front. Hopping on board, Myra thrust the baskets in a corner, and readjusted her cloak. Myra felt now that she could finally breathe, rest a little. She had done it! Escape might not have been easy, but she and Tabitha were both free, nothing ahead of them but the open land of England and opportunities beyond imagination. Already, Myra could feel the freedom seeping into her, cleansing her and sending fresh air through her.

She couldn't feel it for too long, because sleep overtook her, and it became hard to think of something else, even the near un-foretold future.

Something violently hard woke Myra from sleep, and with dreary eyes, she could barely register the tall silhouette of a great estate against a royal blue sky before her. The wagon wasn't moving anymore, so she only began to wonder where she was. It was still dark, so she didn't have the slightest idea.

How long have I been asleep? Myra wondered. Looking around her, she searched for some sign of the time. She expected to see villagers stirring on the streets, perhaps a milkmaid carrying her buckets of milk or a man walking a donkey or horse into town. But in fact, there was no one around; the carts and doors of the houses were closed and still. And when Myra looked back at the sky, she noticed that it had gotten darker, to a navy color, with stars starting to peek through the darkness.

Myra leaned against the wagon's side. How could she have slept the last quarter of the evening and then the entire day? Did her little adventure really tire her that much? Perhaps it was lack of food or drink in her stomach that day; her father did send her out without breakfast when she remembered it.

Yawning deeply, Myra rose from her position, and prepared to move on with Tabitha. She reached next to her, groping around for the handle of both her baskets.

But, there was nothing there.

Her heartbeat flaring up like fire, Myra groped around faster, finally glancing beside her. "Come on, Tabitha, you couldn't have wandered off!" she mumbled in frustration. But only when she looked around at the entire wagon, did she finally start to shake.

Her food basket was gone, and so was Tabitha's.

Myra jumped up and started digging through the wood and stones in the wagon, struggling to pull the piles apart in search of her sister. She searched over and over, somehow hoping that Tabitha would be there. Her heartbeat was hammering so hard that her chest hurt, feeling the throbbing in her head. Blood rushed into her head, and Myra lay back on the wagon with a hard thump.

"What will I do?" Myra asked miserably. "Tabitha can't have gone very far. She's too little. Unless…someone…" Myra sat bolt upright when she considered a dangerous notion. Could someone have stolen her sister while she was sleeping? Perhaps the carrier who owned the wagon came back and took her. No, because if he had, he probably would have woken Myra too.

That was all Myra could think of, and she didn't want to further consider Tabitha having been stolen away. She was so little; she couldn't survive on her own, not with her stomach and waste problems. But what was there to do now?

In Myra's wondering, she had turned her head to look up at the estate in front of her. In the darkness, she still couldn't tell what kind of place it was, illuminated only by the lanterns beside the large front doors. One thing was for sure, it was extremely large and grand, much in the scale of a castle.

Curious, Myra hopped down from the wagon, and walked towards the place, following the lanterns. She felt like she was getting smaller as she walked, almost fearful of how massive this place was. By the time she reached the front doors, she was very hesitant to enter, but something inside Myra told her maybe this would be a good way to get help. Who knew what sort of person lived in this place.

Myra glanced back at the wrought iron fence surrounding the courtyard. There were no guards standing on either side of the gate, which surprised her. If this was such a grand estate, shouldn't there at least be one lonely guard or a dog, _something_ that would secure the place? Shaking her head, Myra turned back to the lion's head knockers on the doors, gasping shortly in surprise before she finally took hold of the door handles. Clenching her teeth, Myra grunted, pulling on the large doors, which creaked loudly.

A long sliver of golden light cut through the darkness, the doors' creaking echoing through the place. Myra stepped back after hearing the echo, but her feet took her forward, turning around then to close the door. Guided by the candelabras that illuminated the corners of the great lobby, Myra stepped to the middle of the room, observing the grand scale of things all around her.

The floor was made of yellow and orange tiles, marked in all sorts of abstract shapes, broken here and there by thick stone pillars. From the ceiling, several flags in every color imaginable hung, wavering in the breeze from outside, displaying elaborate coats of arms and patterns that not even Myra could have imagined. From some corners, curtains hung, moving gracefully in the brief gust of air the door made when it closed. The black candelabras glowed soothingly, and they were the first things that Myra approached, running her fingers over the smooth wrought iron they were made of. And suddenly, a great sense of adventure came over Myra. The place seemed empty, and there were so many places to find and explore. No one seemed to be around in any case, and who knew if Tabitha was in any of the hundreds of rooms this place could have.

Turning from the candelabra she stood at, Myra looked at her options. Hallways and staircases turned off from the lobby, and there was no telling where they would lead to. Finally, she chose the largest hallway, from which a long, lavender carpet led. The carpet was of the finest quality Myra ever felt, and she could have slept on it if she were sleepy enough. But her curiosity of finding where the lavender carpet ended drove her forward. She was far along enough that there was no sense in stopping.

Myra also might have wondered why there were no guards in so grand a place again, but her wonder had overtaken her by storm. After living in a downtrodden cottage all her life, she felt like she had fallen into a whole other world, far, far away from London.

Her thoughts were only heightened when she came into the largest room she had ever seen, into which the lavender carpeted went in a straight line, ending at a large and mighty-looking chair. But, it wasn't really a chair at all; it was adorned with blue and yellow curtains, carved of the finest, darkest wood, and crowned with a structure carved into the shape of a king's crown.

Her breath caught in her throat, Myra walked up the carpet, keeping her eyes on the throne. She couldn't believe it; this was no ordinary lord's estate, it was a castle. The castle, where the king lived!

Myra then noticed something propped against the throne. It had a beautiful golden handle, and had a long sharp body. It wasn't silver, but something in Myra wondered if that was perhaps the sword…

But, Myra must have wandered off a little, because she knocked her foot into a candelabra next to her. She stumbled violently, her hand flying through the air to the middle of the object. The candelabra suddenly met her palm with a smack, and it went tumbling to the ground with a loud crash!

Her blood suddenly running cold, Myra gasped almost as loudly as the crash, and grabbed the candelabra to pull it upright again. But it was heavier than her frightened mind expected, and while her heart raced fast and heavy, she struggled to bring it back up, meanwhile chastising herself for acting so clumsy. She was a peasant who had broken and entered a castle, a crime worthy of a hanging! She had to find Tabitha, but she was fooling around in a castle! How could she have been so stupid to do this?

"Who's that?" a voice asked into the darkness from the entrance.

Myra whirled around, throwing her hands in the air in fright with a loud scream. She threw herself out of sight, and behind one of the giant pillars, keeping so still she was like a fleshy statue. From her position, she could hear footsteps coming towards her, and she shut her eyes and cringed. "Don't come over here, don't come over here," she chanted in whispers.

"Hello?" the same voice called, somewhat timidly. "Who's there?"

With that question, it suddenly occurred to Myra who the speaker was. Slowly, she turned so that her head was facing the source of the voice, but she instantly came face-to-face with a surprised face framed by a mop of blonde hair.

Just as quickly, Myra whipped herself back around, and put her hand to her mouth.

"It's the king!"


	5. The Secret of the Sword

**Chapter 5: The Secret of the Sword**

"Hey, come on," the king said. "It's all right. I'm not going to do anything to you."

Myra still didn't move, but her lips moved to a tiny, tense whisper. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I was just…just looking for my sister. If…If I'd known I was trespassing on your _castle_, sire, I wouldn't have come in."

"You're only a little girl, aren't you?" the king asked. "I don't think you would've known what this place was."

"No, sire, I didn't." Slowly once again, Myra leaned her head around the pillar to catch a glimpse of the king. He didn't look angry or surprised or anything menacing; just plain curious, and a little imploring. He didn't intend any harm, and he showed it truthfully. "And, actually, Your Highness, I'm not exactly a little girl. I'm twelve years old, thirteen this coming May." She spoke with a chuckle on her tongue, and her confidence started to climb. For a moment, she felt almost enticed to come out of hiding, although her feet still felt like anvils with the last of her fear.

"So…will you come out, then?" the king asked.

Myra nodded her head, and carefully regained her footing before stepping out from behind the pillar. She still felt awed being in the presence of the king, taking her time to curtsy politely. The king looked at her confused before he softly yelped, and bowed in reply.

"Who are you?" the king asked.

"I'm called Myra Swann, Highness," Myra answered.

"My name's Arthur," he replied.

"It's really a…great, great honor to be meeting you," Myra said, keeping her head bowed low. She was told many times that was what you did when conversing with royalty.

"Really, it's all right if you call me Arthur," he said, holding up a hand to stop Myra's formalities.

Myra looked up in shock. She wondered why the king was being so informal. Her father had told her so much about what royalty expected of their subjects, and that was the only thing running through her mind. Only when she really took a good look at Arthur, did she remember that she was talking to a boy her age, who had been thrust into being king without an upbringing. He didn't even look right wearing royal pajamas.

"Well, then, do you mind me pretending that you just aren't king?" Myra asked, unsure.

"Oh, yes," Arthur answered. "I mean, I don't feel like a king. And you, you're just a girl looking for your sister."

Myra jumped. "Oh no, Tabitha! She's…she's so little! I can't…" She stomped her foot and collapsed on the floor near the pillar. First, losing her sister and then, meeting the king; she couldn't take it. What was next? Coming face-to-face with a wizard? But at the moment, a thought like that was annoying. Tabitha was her first priority, and would always be.

"What does your sister look like?" Arthur wanted to know. "How old is she?"

"She has dark hair, like me, and is about, um, this tall," Myra answered, making her hand hover in the air about a foot and a half from the ground, "and she's a little over a year old".

"Oh, she's a _baby_," Arthur said, his eyes widening. "Well, I…I don't think…I don't think a baby could've gotten in here by herself. Not unless…" His voice trailed off, and he slowly turned around from Myra.

"Not unless what?" Myra asked.

"Oh, nothing," Arthur said. "It's impossible."

Myra shook her head. This wasn't helping. She didn't know what on earth had happened to Tabitha, and she had to find out soon, otherwise they were both doomed! What if her father had found them and stolen her away? What if some villager had taken her? The very thought made Myra want to tear her hair out, and then some. But she knew one thing; it wasn't likely she could count on Arthur to help her. He wouldn't tell her what was so impossible, and as far as she knew, he didn't have a royal guard who would go out on a search for a baby girl. She didn't know him, and he didn't know her; what would he be willing to do for a lowly peasant that he didn't know?

"Please, if you would excuse me," she said, standing up. "You shouldn't worry yourself about some little baby. I can find her myself." Even as Myra said that, she knew it wasn't entirely true. London was a big city, and Tabitha could be anywhere; maybe _too_ big a city for a twelve-year-old to search by herself. Still, Myra turned, readjusted her cloak and walked down the lavender carpet back to the lobby, preparing herself for her task.

Arthur looked after Myra as she walked out of the throne room. Something about her was lingering with him. She was looking for her sister, and he was just looking for direction in his new position as king. She seemed to be just as frightened and lost as he was, and it didn't feel right to let her go. Myra was searching for a _baby_ too. Heaven only knew what kinds of trouble such a small girl could cause.

Arthur looked at his feet, feeling how small he felt inside the throne room, which, alone, could have housed his foster father, Sir Ector's castle. He didn't feel like king, but that's what he was. He had the power to do much more than he did when he was a lowly page to Sir Ector. The highest power in all England was his, and it felt more like a long list of chores to do in a castle kitchen rather than an honorable duty. But now…now it seemed that that list seemed more worthwhile. He was king. One of his subjects needed him. He couldn't be a child and go hide.

"Wait!" his voice called out.

From her place near the door, Myra stopped. Arthur's voice had called her. Turning around, she ran back to the throne room, skidding to a stop in front of him.

"You called?" she clarified, curtsying speedily.

"Look, I see you want to do this on your own, but I think that…that I should help you. I can send some guards out to scout out Tabitha, if you want."

Myra's eyes lit up. "You'd do that?" she asked. "Oh, why, thank you so much, but, it truly surprises me you would do that for a peasant like me."

"As long as you live in England, it's what I should do," Arthur answered, confidence creeping into his voice.

Myra smiled, and opened her mouth to speak, but no words could come to her. Words couldn't describe her heartfelt thanks to Arthur for his willingness to help her. Her happiness was great enough that she wanted to hug the king, but she restrained herself from doing so; she felt she had suffered enough embarrassment tonight.

Suddenly, a great banging came from down the hall. Arthur and Myra gasped simultaneously, and instantly, Myra went still, like she had been seized by a blanket of ice. An image formed in her mind, of the front doors waving back and forth as hands banged feverishly on the wood. Light came and went as the doors moved, and Myra was somehow filled with a great fright that chilled her blood. She shut her eyes and screamed out in her mind to banish the image, but it didn't leave her. The doors banged, and the light wavered as if from another miracle occurring right outside. But something about that light told Myra that it was nothing to hail or celebrate. And that feeling banged at her so that she actually did cry out, the image seeming to grind itself into her memory. Then, like smoke in a high wind, it just vanished into thin air. She opened her eyes.

Arthur was at the throne, pulling something out from somewhere. When he turned quickly around, he was grasping the mighty handle of the sword from the stone, and then running across the carpet. "Stay there, Myra!" he said, as he left the room.

Myra blinked twice, looking after the sword. It was dim in the room, but the sword's blade seemed different. Instead of ordinary steel, the great blade was a bright silver and white, like it had been touched by sunlight. But there was no light to make the sword glow so brightly, not even the candelabras.

"How can that be?" Myra wondered out loud, through the noise of the banging.

But, wait. There was no banging anymore. All was silent as slumber.

"Arthur!" Myra shouted, scrambling to her feet. "Wait, wait!" She raced across the carpet, coming to the lobby faster than she expected. Arthur was at the doors, looking confusedly at them. The doors were dark and still.

"What was that?" Arthur asked, turning to Myra.

"I don't know," Myra replied. "It must have been an impatient visitor-"

"No," Arthur interrupted. "What you did before. Were you scared?"

Myra didn't speak, only thought. She, in all honesty, had no clue what had happened to her. She had just seen the doors banging in her mind, as they were in real life, taken by surprise by the image that had charged into her skull like a wild stallion. Yes, that was what it was like; the image had had a mind of its own, pounding on her mind's eye until she just let it take shape inside her, and it didn't stop until the doors stood still, like in the vision's conclusion.

"I think…I…I _saw _the doors while they were banging," Myra said, her voice barely above a whisper. "There, there was someone- _something_- behind the door. It wanted to come in, and…and…" Myra felt a chill roll through her. It wasn't possible. She hadn't seen the doors in her mind! It must have been a coincidence that the two mysterious events occurred side by side, but her heart told her that coincidences were out of the picture here. And now, with the…

"…the sword," Myra said, looking down at the sword in Arthur's hands. "It was glowing."

Arthur lifted the sword in his hands, and looked from the blade to Myra. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "I didn't see that."

"Yes, it was," Myra pressed. "It was shining; like the sun was on it. But, there were only candles in the room." She stopped there, not taking her eyes off the suspicious blade. There was certainly something strange happening here. The sword had glowed, she swore it! And then, she had seen the doors! Could it be that she was losing her mind? But then, it had been magic…

Myra shut her eyes and tried to level her mind. Magic wasn't what brought around the miracle, and most certainly not here. Or…?

"See here, I, I'm sorry for wasting your precious time, and bothering you with such silly things, so…" Myra collected her skirts, and reached to push the door open. When she did, she got outside in one step, and slowly closed the door. She felt like she should go and return to her solo search for Tabitha, but she couldn't get the spellbinding image of the sword to leave her. It was too strange, too glorious, an image to not think about, and suddenly, Myra felt that she should investigate further. If magic was in the works here, it was more than a possibility that it would help her get to Tabitha, no search party required.

She pulled the door open further, and closing it, she decided to use her mind's eye to find Arthur. But no matter how much she pushed and concentrated, nothing came to mind; no images pushed and ground at her, so she decided to find him the old-fashioned-_normal_- way.

"Arthur!" she called. "Arthur!"

And then, from not too far off, she heard the frantic footfalls, climbing stairs. Following the sound, she went through more halls and tiny flights of stairs, until she heard the footsteps become louder; she had to be close. Myra raced after the sounds until she finally heard a door slam, arriving just in time before she could hit it. Swiftly, she took a breath and leaned her head against the wood.

"Merlin!" Arthur said loudly.

"Oh, why, Highness, what are you doing in here?" a sleepy, aged voice asked. "It's late. What's going on?"

"I dunno, but something's happened," Arthur replied. "A girl- Myra Swann- just came here, looking for her sister. And then, the doors began banging, and Myra…she fell and started screaming and talking about how she saw the doors opening. I think she also saw the sword-"

There was a sound of bed covers being rustled, and more footsteps on the floor. "What do you mean, she _saw_? Did she see them, in the way that I can see the future?"

Arthur gasped, taking in a deep breath. "Yes, I think that's it!"

"The girl has magic," Merlin murmured. "Any person who can foretell the future has about as much magic as I do. I only hope she doesn't recognize black magic."

Magic? Myra put her hand to her mouth, her heart feeling like it was on fire with its rapid beat. Her? Magic? That wasn't possible; it couldn't be right. If she had magic, how come she wasn't able to just magically come and go with Tabitha as she pleased? Why didn't magic get her out of her home so long ago when she wanted to most? Why didn't magic help her find Tabitha before she had gotten mixed up in all this?

"I never thought I'd be around long enough to see another witch," Merlin said. "You know, she might be a little helpful to us, since we've discovered the sword's magic."

"She's seen that too," Arthur added.

"All the better, lad," Merlin said. "But should she come back again, we must be careful not to provoke the dark side of her magic. I've seen too many witches and wizards lean too far that way when they discover what they can do. But this girl- she could help us channel the power of the sword."

"Could she?" Arthur asked, full of awe.

"I believe she can, if she is willing to try. Now, by all means, invite her in. I have something for her."


	6. Revealed

**Chapter 6: Revealed**

Myra's body felt cold as ice, not sure what was happening. How did the old man inside know she was outside the door? Oh, that's right- magic. Myra didn't want to believe it, but seeing as the old man had said so that the sword had powers, there didn't seem to be any other explanation.

And so, she stood tall, and tried to look presentable, although they probably weren't expecting her to be in peak condition for an impromptu meeting. As Arthur opened the door, Myra put on her best grin, her hands behind her back.

"Evening," Myra said as Arthur looked at her. "Um, mind if I step inside?"

"Oh, no, sure," Arthur said, opening the door further for Myra to come on.

Myra nodded her head as she walked in, taking in her new surroundings. The room was speckled with the typical furnishings- bed, bedside table, candlesticks, and a desk. But the room seemed small to Myra, because there were sets of flasks and beakers set on one small table, and a few stray maps and globes. All it needed were books on the shelves and the room could be easily mistaken for a library.

"So, you have come after all!" the old man said, chuckling. He gestured towards himself, grinning widely under his snow-white beard and mustache. "My name is Merlin."

"Myra," she answered.

"Come and sit down with me, Myra," Merlin said gently, waving her over to the bed, which looked messy, but cozy next to the candlelight. When they were seated, Merlin looked at Myra seriously, but somewhat gently.

"Myra, do you know who you are, characteristically speaking?" Merlin asked.

"Well, I know who I am, as Myra, but I don't really know whether to answer if I'm human or not," Myra answered. "I heard you talking, and you said something about me being…being a _witch_?"

"I did," Merlin clarified. "My pupil, Arthur, described to me that you said you _saw _the doors coming alive in the lobby. How exactly did this happen?"

Myra breathed deeply before she told her story to Merlin, who listened as attentively as any decent person should. He nodded his head, and adjusted his hair under his pointy blue hat every once in a while.

Finally, he grinned, and gestured for Arthur to come and sit down beside him. When he had, Merlin looked between him and Myra as he continued to speak.

"From experience, we know that magic can be a risky business if not handled correctly," Merlin said, looking at Arthur. "But there are wizards, like myself, who have chosen to use their magic to educate, not for personal gains. And I think that you can help us, Myra. The sword, you see, has been discovered to have extraordinary power, far beyond what I've seen before. And something tells me that there is something coming, something important."

"What kind of something?" Arthur asked. "You didn't tell me about this."

"I suppose I've never had good purpose for it, up till now," Merlin answered. "But I'm sure that this something is up to no good."

"You mean, something magical and evil?" Myra asked, swallowing hard.

"Afraid, child, that I do mean," Merlin said. "It's difficult to say what exactly it is. All I know is that we don't have much time before it arrives. But, with a proper handling of your abilities, Myra, you might be able to help us stop what is coming before it does any horrid things to anyone."

Myra shook her head, still not believing the events unfolding around her. "But we still haven't _proved _that I'm a witch. Who's to say that me seeing the doors was just by coincidence?"

"Well, why not start out with something small?" Merlin took Myra's arm, and helped her stand up. "Repeat after me, and focus your gaze on that little house over there." And then he told her some strange words that seemed jumbled together; not very easily rolled off the tongue. Myra didn't understand them, but as Merlin told her, she looked at a tiny little house that could only fit a medium-sized bird, with a blue-green roof and a short perch outside the entrance hole.

As fluently as she could, Myra repeated the words, her hand facing the puny house. There was a giant puff of pink smoke and little sparkles floating through the room, as the trio feasted eyes on what Myra had done.

In the clearing smoke, was a little…

"Chicken?" Myra asked, looking back at Merlin with a twisted frown. "Um, was that supposed to happen?"

"Point of fact, it wasn't. It was supposed to become a mouse," Merlin said, twisting his long beard around his spindly finger. "Then again, you are just a developing witch. Spells oftentimes go awry when they…"

Suddenly, there was a great flapping of wings, and a screeching overhead as a little brown owl swooped down over Myra's head, landing on a perch on top of a shelf. It picked at its feathers with its beak, extending its wings out.

"Oh, Archimedes!" Arthur exclaimed. "You're back!"

"Thought I never would come back?" the owl grumbled. "I was chased the last few miles by a blasted hawk. Can't think to stand those things!"

"Good thing you arrived when you did," Merlin said. "Archimedes, I want you to meet Myra. She happened to stumble upon the castle, and just learned that she has magic."

"Magic, indeed," Archimedes said, rolling his large, yellow eyes. "The girl probably wouldn't know me from a stuffed animal if I stood like this." He ruffled his feathers and then stood very still. Myra had to admit, he actually did look stuffed. But she wasn't going to give this grumpy owl the satisfaction.

"Ahem," she coughed.

Archimedes ruffled his feathers again, smirking at Myra. "And in any case, I don't see much magic coming from this girl."

"The name is Myra!" she said firmly. "My-ra!"

"Ha, ha, funny name for a small girl," Archimedes said, chuckling.

Now was a moment when Myra was glad she had magic. Grinning, she pointed her finger slyly at Archimedes, and whispered the spell Merlin taught her. The puff of smoke came again, and Archimedes squawked before he reappeared from the smoke.

"Guess that'll teach you," Myra whispered to the newly-transformed owl, who clucked in reply.

"That was a clever idea," Arthur said, trying to hold back laughter. He chuckled loudly as he watched Archimedes pace his perch on spindly legs, and cluck loudly in protest. Myra giggled too, sitting back on the bed to regain herself. Even Merlin was laughing a little, before he stated a spell that turned Archimedes, and his little house, back to their original forms.

"Never mind, never mind," Archimedes said, shaking his head. "Pinfeathers and huffyduck!"

Myra gave Archimedes an odd look.

"You mustn't mind him," Merlin said to her. "He's too sensitive for his own good."

"That's something I haven't heard before," the owl grumbled, glaring at Merlin.

"Is he always like this?" Myra asked Arthur.

Arthur covered his mouth with his hand, stifling a laugh. "Worse. He likes to go out every night, and he's always mad when he comes back near morning." He pointed at Archimedes with a wave of his hand, and Myra followed the motion to the owl ruffling his feathers, and glaring at anything he saw, until he finally stalked into his birdhouse. Myra considered for a fleeting second conjuring something over his house, when she remembered that she didn't know any other spells. And maybe, she might actually be scolded this time.

"Oh, that reminds me of something," Merlin said suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Myra, child, come here. I have something for you."

Myra's eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat. "Really?"

"Oh, yes." Merlin reached into a tiny basket beside his bed, beneath folds of red silk curtains. He whispered something into the basket, followed by low sounds that seemed almost childlike. But those sounds didn't come from Merlin.

Myra peered over the bed at what Merlin was taking from the basket, and she nearly burst into joyful tears when she noticed his gift to her.

"Tabitha!" Myra shouted as Merlin gently handed the baby to her. She hugged her sister to her, as Tabitha cooed and giggled in equal joy at seeing Myra again. Myra even did a little dance around the room, holding Tabitha so close that they could have melted together, and neither of them would have noticed. "Oh my goodness, thank you! Thank you so much for finding her! Tabitha, thank goodness! I thought maybe I'd never see you again!"

Arthur smiled at Myra as she continued to twirl Tabitha in her arms. "That's wonderful. But, Merlin, how did you find her? Why did you take her?"

Merlin grinned. "Just the way you and I met. I saw her coming in the future. But I sensed a kind of dark presence around her. The minute that I sensed that darkness, I simply went out to the wagon, and rescued the child. I guess it's a good thing I did, otherwise the thing that Myra saw might have gotten her and her sister both."

Myra stopped twirling, Tabitha still cooing in delight. "Wait, you sensed a darkness around Tabitha? But, if you did, then why didn't you rescue the both of us? It might've saved a lot from happening."

"I know, and I'm sorry, child," Merlin said, hanging his head for a moment. "It's easy for me to say that I thought perhaps the infant should've been saved more than you, because, well, she's so very young. But you, Myra, I sensed something about you too. The dark presence was around you, but it was mixed with something more potent, more…stable; something that could chase away the darkness. I guess I was right, because we all know now that you have magic, that which saved us from the forces that came upon the castle tonight."

"So, you didn't save me because you thought that my magic could save me from evil if it ever found me?" Myra wanted to know.

"Exactly."

"But, if there is something…evil…out there right now, do you think you could teach me how to use my magic against it?"

Merlin lowered his bushy eyebrows and looked around a while before he answered Myra. Having mentioned the darkness surrounding Myra and Tabitha stirred a distant memory. For as he knew, he had come in contact with wizards and witches who had sworn to use magic for good, but had turned to the other side when they learned what could stop them from using their power for the greatest- or not so greatest- of things. But he also sensed a heartfelt goodness about the two children; Myra was unlikely to turn if it meant endangering her sister, from the affection she showed upon getting Tabitha into her arms.

And with the proper discipline, he would not let Myra slip through his fingers. As he said, with her trained magic next to his, perhaps the lingering darkness could be stopped before it could harm any lives.

"So then, Myra, I will be your tutor in magic," Merlin said, adjusting his spectacles on his nose.

"Agreed, sir," Myra said, reaching out her hand.

"Plain Merlin will do, please," Merlin added, shaking Myra's hand in agreement, not realizing what would soon unfold.


	7. Merlin's Lessons

**Chapter 7: Merlin's Lessons**

The following morning helped very much to ease Myra's excitement from the night before. Not that she wasn't still shaking inside from her new discoveries, but she did feel better knowing that she, as well as Tabitha, was in good hands for the time being. And after all, it wasn't every day you learned that you were a witch who might help save a castle's inhabitants from a coming evil.

That night, Merlin had allowed for Myra to collapse in sleep in his room, and Tabitha to remain in her basket with the red silk curtains. And now, the three of them attended breakfast altogether in the dining hall, where Arthur sat at the head of a grand feast.

"Good morning," Arthur said, waving.

"Morning," Myra and Merlin greeted simultaneously. Tabitha just giggled as Myra set her in a high chair Arthur had requested for her.

"You slept well, Highness?" Merlin asked, helping himself to some cream puffs.

"Yes," Arthur answered, "and, I was thinking this morning. Because Myra is actually a witch, and she doesn't really have a place to go back to, do you think, Merlin, that she and Tabitha can stay here? You know, as guests?"

"Why, yes, I think that would be a good idea," Merlin answered with a nod of his head. "But it's not my castle, so it's not my decision to ultimately make. Would you like for that to happen?"

Arthur looked between Merlin and Myra, who eagerly awaited an answer. "Yes," he finally said.

"Well then, welcome Myra and Tabitha," Merlin said. "We're pleased to have the both of you here."

Myra looked between the two, and grinned sincerely at them. "You mean, you will let me and Tabitha stay? For…for as long as we can?"

"As long as you are my pupil and remain faithful to the crown, then I don't see why you can't," Merlin said. "And your father sounds like an infernal brute from what I gather."

"He wasn't always that way," Myra said, looking down at her plate. "Before my mother died, he was the kindest father anyone could have. He gave me hugs and tucked me in at night, and never _ever _threatened me with an _axe_! I still don't understand what could've happened to him."

"I can't tell you what," Merlin said, "but I can say that if he ever sets foot in this castle, he'll be very, _very _sorry."

"Oh, I know he'll be sorry," Myra agreed. "If I knew I had powers a long time ago, I would've knocked so much sense into him, he'd think twice before even picking up a knife to eat with! He very well could get stabbed if he wasn't careful around me!"

Merlin bore his firm gaze on Myra, putting his hand on hers gently. "Listen to me, Myra. I understand wanting to use your magic to defend yourself, but this is also very important. It can be tempting, but you must never use magic to _kill_. You must use your head to outsmart your opponent."

"Brain over brawn," Arthur added, pointing to his head for emphasis.

"That's right," Merlin said. "Do you also remember that wizard's duel I had with Madam Mim?"

Arthur grinned. "Oh, yes. You beat her by turning yourself into a germ and made her too sick to fight back. I still think that that was the cleverest thing I ever saw, Merlin."

"I can't say that I disagree. Maleceletonopthyrosis is rare, but it does the trick."

"That _was _very clever," Myra agreed. "I know I never want to know what it feels like, because it sounds awful."

"Awful, but downright funny," Merlin said before he and Arthur broke out into soft laughter, and Myra began to imagine ways in which she could have played with her father using magic, starting to laugh as well.

After breakfast, when Tabitha had been handed to a nurse for the time being, the company gathered in the library, surrounded by piles upon piles of thick volumes. Myra was in awe of so many books in one place as she had never seen a library before, and suddenly she felt excited to learn from them. All the way up, Merlin never stopped talking about what he learned from their boundless knowledge, and it pushed curiosity and excitement into his students' minds.

For periods at a time, Merlin went between teaching Arthur how to be a king, and teaching spells to Myra. Myra was having a wonderful time practicing, although she still couldn't get the first spell right. Instead of a mouse, whatever she practiced on became a big brown chicken. While she did practice the newer spells once in a while, she focused mostly on the mouse spell, trying her hardest to perfect it. Once she did, she might never have to cast it again, just as long as she could get _one_ mouse out of it.

Archimedes watched the studying from his library perch, flicking his eyes between the book piles and the students reading and flicking magic around the room. It was amazing to watch how dedicated these children were in their studies, much like Merlin had always been. It was like their lives depended on it.

That was the way Myra thought of it too. If she was going to protect Tabitha and herself against what might be coming, these spells would have to be at their best, maybe more. And besides that, it felt good to be executing her powers after not ever using them in her life. She felt strong, invincible. At times, Merlin praised her for working so hard with what she was given. Some would have taken that as a signal to take a break; but not Myra. The more spells she was given, the harder she practiced. Only when the trio took their break for lunch did she finally relax a little bit.

Afterwards, Myra was in for a surprising lesson. Instead of a fencing session with ordinary swords, Merlin was going to help Arthur to better channel the strange powers inside the marvelous sword. She didn't know how an ordinary king like Arthur could channel such magic, but she was interested in seeing how he would handle it.

Arthur then grasped the sword, and waited for the strange magic to manifest. It soon glowed, like the sun's rays were touching the blade, and Arthur tried taking some kind of action to control the magic. At random times, the blade dimmed and then became blinding, and Myra grew nervous as Arthur tried aimlessly to control it. Myra felt awful that he had no direction in this task, and wished she could step in to help; she'd practiced enough for a task like this. Hadn't she?

Arthur's forehead dripped with sweat, his hair plastered to his skin with it all, and the sword seemed to become a light monster ready to rear up its ugly head for destruction. His lips were squeezed together with intense concentration, about to break out in a frustrated yell. With the sword getting brighter, his arms shook violently and the poor boy looked like he might collapse at any time; perhaps to not wake up until the following week!

Myra shook her head in frustration. She couldn't stand by and watch Arthur strain himself for something that he couldn't control very well. It surprised her that Merlin had placed him in this kind of lesson in the first place. Nonetheless, she wasn't going to let Arthur get hurt under the sword.

Even Archimedes seemed to be getting restless. "Hey, you bumbling blockhead!" he said loudly to Merlin. "You'd better get that sword out of the boy's hands! It's practically _killing_ him!"

Merlin held up a hand to silence the owl. "Any moment now," he said, dismissing Archimedes' concern.

Breathing and thinking quickly, Myra ran through the spells she learned that day. Her throat closed up as her fear escalated, but she lit up excitedly when she thought of one that worked.

Focusing on the struggling Arthur, Myra extended her hands and recited the spell. Inside her palms, she instantly felt the blasting power of an ice-cold wind, rolling in midair like an invisible floating ball. One last time she glanced at the king, recognizing once more what could happen if her spell backfired. But she was confident; she had practiced, and she had a better grasp of what she could do with her magic.

Breathing deeply to calm herself and her focus, Myra jolted her hands to release the wind spell. Holding herself still, she watched the breeze swirl around both Arthur and the sword. Arthur shut his eyes tight in his great surprise as the breeze blasted his hair from his forehead, whipping his robes violently. There was enough wind that it formed a visible vortex around him, and all through the vortex's powerful strength, he still held onto the sword, which, as Arthur's grip grew visibly weaker, began to dim. Yes that's it, Myra thought. Just let go of the sword, and cool yourself down a little.

Finally, Myra forced enough willpower into her spell that she actually got the sword out of Arthur's hands. In her surprise, she accidentally pulled the spell towards her. The breeze pushed the sword into her hands, blowing out as Myra gasped at the sword in her grasp. The hilt was warm from Arthur having held it, but it was no longer glowing; its blade was completely restored to its original, ordinary steel.

Both Myra and Arthur were breathing hard; one with excitement, the other with relief and tire. Arthur dropped to his knees on the floor, breathing heavily.

"Gosh," he breathed. "Myra. Did you…did you do that?"

Myra just nodded, too glad and relieved to speak; her spell had worked, and thus had saved a great big accident from happening.

"Well…thank you, Myra. Thank you very much. I thought maybe that sword was going to eat me alive."

"It could have, if it went on for much longer," Myra added with a deep breath. "And…you are very, very welcome."

Merlin walked up to the two tired children, applauding broadly. "And wonderful job, the both of you," he said.

"Wonderful job?" Myra asked, appalled. "Merlin, that sword's magic could've killed Arthur! And you're saying 'wonderful job'? I had to intervene before you and save him before anything could happen-"

"And, so you did," Merlin replied. "You were not afraid to use your head to do something." He turned to look at the exhausted Arthur. "You as well, Arthur. Holding on until the end is something very difficult to do sometimes, and you held onto the sword like I didn't expect."

"Well, thank you, Merlin, but how are we going to control its magic?" Arthur asked. "That was a good lesson, but it didn't really help us find out anything about the sword."

Merlin frowned as if in thought, and looked at the sword still clutched in Myra's hand. "Perhaps not a handful, but we may have learned one thing. Myra, hand the sword to Arthur, if you would."

Myra handed the sword to Arthur, and immediately, the sword began to glow and sparkle.

"Now pass it back to Myra."

Arthur did just that, and as soon as he let go, the sword ceased its magical sparkle. It didn't even spark the tiniest bit in Myra's hands.

"Just as I suspected," Merlin said thoughtfully. "It doesn't matter if one has magic or not. Only Arthur can bring the sword to life."

"But, what does that mean?" Arthur asked, looking back at the sword curiously. "Why…do you think that it?"

"I suspect it has something to do with your birthright as king," Merlin answered, running his finger along the blade in curiosity. "What can be said is that this is a dangerous magic, and should be used carefully. Whatever's coming may just want it…"


	8. Bonding

**Chapter 8: Bonding**

As the days passed, and winter snow fell around them still, Myra and Tabitha were becoming quite accustomed to life in the castle. Because they were staying on long-term, they were given their own room not too far from Merlin's. The conditions were of the very finest, and Myra slept well every night in her bed; even Tabitha was sleeping like an angel when she was in her own crib, where she slept on the fluffiest, downiest pillow with the silkiest blankets.

They ate full and well at every meal, listening to Merlin's stories of magical study, laughing at anecdotes full of accidents and blunders. And during lessons, Myra sometimes learned more spells than she could swallow, but she enjoyed the challenge. She loved getting lost in her practices, feeling her magic growing by the day. But, in the late afternoon, if she was tired of physically learning magic, she joined Merlin and Arthur in their studies. Myra relaxed her head on the table and, while she watched the windows darken with nightfall, she listened to Merlin and Arthur read from books of biology, history, mathematics, English, and politics. Like Myra had expected, Merlin made subjects like that interesting to learn about. He related each lesson to something he had done in his years, and often the stories were as interesting as the lessons came to be. Sometimes, Archimedes had something to say about the lesson, and although his examples were too overbearing on Merlin's, Myra absorbed them like she did the rest.

It wasn't just Myra who was coming to like this new routine. Arthur, who had never received a real education before, was finding a growing interest in the subjects that Merlin was teaching him. Who'd have thought that the world was round and floating through space, or that the human body had several systems working together just to keep it alive, or even that there was a number in the universe that had no end- pi? The subjects alone were like separate worlds, and although they were sometimes hard to grasp, they were fun to dive into.

But one thing was always on Arthur's mind, and the thing always scared and excited him at the same time. It was now easy to grasp the fact that he had pulled the sword and was now king. But he never expected that the sword would be a magical one that only _he _could control. It made him feel even more powerful as king, but the knowledge that such a tremendous power was all his made him shake. Merlin had stated several times over when Myra and Tabitha appeared that there was evil coming. And, what if that evil really was coming for the sword's power? Would he have to fight to protect the sword and all the people who lived in the castle? Well, mayhap he wouldn't have to worry about that, because he had Merlin and Myra to help him.

Myra…

Sometimes, during his studies, Arthur's attention would wander to Myra practicing her magic. He noticed how hard she worked to perfect each spell, how she would never stop unless she was as tired as a dog. It's hard wanting to do that for everything you learn, he thought. She needs some time for herself.

Arthur now felt a new idea brewing. Maybe when he and Myra could have some time for themselves, he could take her around the castle grounds, and just talk. He knew that if she and Tabitha were going to live in the castle for some time, he would like to get closer; be friends. Besides, if that were to happen, perhaps her stay would be a lot more pleasant. Arthur himself had never had any real friends beside Merlin and Archimedes, but having a friend his own age would be a whole other thing. The thought gave him a thrill, and an anxious drive to finish the lesson he was in before he and Myra could be free.

The morning dawned beautiful and blue, and all inhabitants of the castle were up with the sun. The guards were up now, guarding the castle with a fresh energy now that there was a new king to serve. Servants were rushing around with that energy as well, under a spell by the beautiful day outside. Even Archimedes came back from his nightly flight with abundant lightness in his heart. He didn't show it much, but he sure felt it.

At breakfast, everyone arrived with grins on their faces, expecting the usual routine to commence. All except for Arthur. He planned to ask Myra to take her afternoon break off with him so that they could just talk, bond a little. He was anxious, because he knew how dedicated Myra had become to studying magic and it seemed likely she would ignore the question.

Myra beamed as she ate her breakfast. Everything about this day seemed to radiate cheeriness, and she had felt it in the atmosphere from the moment she and Tabitha exited their room. She could have sworn she even saw one lone guard smiling into space. Even as she thought it now, she still laughed softly.

Arthur breathed slowly before he spoke up. "Say, Myra?"

"Mm-hmm?" Myra asked, looking up from spooning a mouthful of cinnamon strudel in her mouth.

"Do you think that you could take your afternoon break off to take a walk around the castle, with me?" Arthur asked; he bit his lip upon finishing. Asking to do something with a friend was harder than he thought.

Myra swallowed her strudel, putting her hands on the table in thought. "Well…all right, sure. Why not? It's a nice day outside." She paused to laugh a little. "It wouldn't surprise me if the guards were asking for the day off."

"No, I guess not," Arthur agreed, chuckling too. "So, three o'clock, after studies are over?"

"Sure," Myra said. "I've never seen the castle grounds up close before. But, you don't think we'll find any trolls living around the grounds, do you?"

"I don't think so," Arthur answered. "I think we'd be lucky if we found any pike still living in the pond in this weather. And they're troll enough for me." He frowned in disgust at the thought of the monstrous fish.

Myra nodded, before she continued eating her breakfast. Arthur only grinned, satisfied with himself.

Even in the dead of January, the sun was still springtime warm as Arthur and Myra stepped outside the castle. The instant that they did, Myra was already becoming overwhelmed beyond expectations. The land around the castle was covered with snow, covering old trees and landscape structures. With the sun sparkling on it all, the spectacle was like that of a fairytale land.

"Great deck and jack!" Myra exclaimed. "I knew sun made snow sparkle, but I've never seen it look this lovely."

"Right?" Arthur agreed. "I guess it's a good thing no one has walked through it yet, or the snow wouldn't look as pretty."

"Wait! Arthur, you just gave me an idea," Myra said, turning to an old oak tree next to her. Using magic, she cut out a huge rectangle of wood from the trunk and, curling the front end upward, placed it inside the snow before a little hill nearby.

"Who says we can't be the first ones?" Myra added, gesturing to the wood in the snow.

"What's that for?" Arthur asked.

"I'll show you," Myra answered. Carefully tucking her cloak around her, she stepped onto the wood and sat down, patting the space behind her. "Come on, get on."

Hesitating a second, Arthur took his time sitting down, positioning himself so that his legs were stretched fully on either side of Myra. Nervously, he waited for Myra to do whatever she was going to do, hanging onto the wood.

"Hang on!" Myra called out before she gave a push of the wood. And suddenly, the wood plummeted down the hill, sliding through the snow as easily as rushing water. Myra cried out in sheer joy, lifting her face to the sky…just before the wood came to stop at the bottom of the hill.

Arthur was in shock, sitting still. The feeling he got was one so wild, so stomach-churning, that he just let out a loud laugh to release them. Going down the hill, he had felt a rush that was bigger, grander, more powerful than any joy he'd ever felt, although it was something a little unfamiliar.

For a moment, he had truly had fun!

"See?" Myra asked after hearing Arthur laugh. "That's what we peasants do in the snow. I'm surprised you've never done that before."

"Well, I didn't really live as wonderfully as you think," Arthur said. He paused before continuing, collecting the thoughts from the story of his past. "I was an orphan before I became king. All my life, I lived with Sir Ector and his son, Kay, in their castle. But, that didn't mean I was treated like a future knight. I was their kitchen servant, washing dishes and doing chores morning and night. They were good to me, mostly, and, so, I thought that was what I would be the rest of my life."

"And then, look at what you became!" Myra said, bowing her head and curtsying as she rose from the wood. "His Majesty, King Arthur of all England!"

"Yes, and I'm happy that it's happened, but…" Arthur's voice trailed off. "But now that the sword has magic, I don't know what I should do. I mean, it's a huge responsibility for someone like me to take; being king, and the only one who can control a magical sword. Merlin's trying to guide me, but it doesn't help that he mentions the evil every time the sword is brought up. Right now, all I want is to be understood. And no one seems to." He shook his head forlornly, turning and putting his head in between his legs sadly.

Myra felt terrible. She understood Arthur's situation. From the time her mother had died, she had been thrust into the mature position of mother of the cottage. And for the first few weeks afterwards, she had cried herself to sleep, or at least until her bed was too wet with tears to even sleep, what with her worries about not being able to live up to her family's demands. Not only that, but she felt completely alone. Her father was simply being her father, and Tabitha didn't have a clue what was happening, so she had no one to turn to when she felt as alone as Arthur appeared to feel. Throughout the long year that she worked so hard to please her changing father and care for her sister, she felt like she had given up on childhood and joys for good. But now, as a witch with the ability to create what she wished for, and a hopeful future ahead, those feelings were disappearing. Perhaps if Arthur could be given that, the past could be remedied.

"Look, Arthur, you remember when I told the story about what I went through back home?" Myra asked. "Well, I believe that every child like us should be allowed to live their lives like real children, not as adults. Of course it was a little soon to make you king, because you're still a boy. But if we keep looking to the future, we may eventually forget what we've been through, and if we stick together. I'm your friend, and I want you to know that. All right?"

Arthur looked up from his miserable position at Myra. "You mean it?" he asked.

"Cross my heart," Myra said, crossing her fingers over her chest.

Arthur smiled before speaking again. "Then, I'm your friend too."

Myra chuckled, grinning a sweet but silly grin. Arthur laughed at her expression, Myra soon laughing along.

Their laughter was suddenly interrupted by a clapping of thunder.

"Thunder?" Myra wondered aloud. "That can't be."

Both of them turned around to the ominous sound, and in an instant, their blood ran cold.

On the horizon, a black cloud was lingering. No, it wasn't lingering; it seemed to be rolling and bubbling like smoky water. It was growing, it was…_roaring_.

Myra slowly took a step back towards the castle. "Maybe…maybe we should go back…"


	9. Something Wicked

**Chapter 9: Something Wicked**

The cloud looked miles away, but Myra and Arthur could already feel their hair stand on end. A cold wind blew through the hills and trees, scattering some dead leaves left from autumn.

Still, the rolling, bubbling surface of the cloud came menacingly closer. And instantly, that same image, only darker and more frightening, began to pound on Myra's brain, grinding furiously, the pain ringing down into her toes. Knives seemed to sear at her, and she screamed.

"Myra!" Arthur cried. "What's going on? Oh, no, are you seeing it?"

"Let's go!" Myra said quickly, grabbing Arthur's arm and running for the castle. Arthur yelped as he was pulled along, but Myra paid that no mind. Something was coming, and that grinding image in her mind was definitely not for nothing!

And sure enough, the moment that Myra pulled them along, the cloud broke out! It made a long, loud roar like a massive lion, and charged onward after the friends. It pushed against the sky, turning it a grey-black, and bulldozing down what was in the way. The wind became strong and freezing, shoving Myra and Arthur forward. It was hard for them to run through the snow; even harder for Myra to remember a fire spell when she was this terrified.

But, wait…Merlin's lesson about holding on till the end! She had to remember that, even now.

Squeezing Arthur's arm harder, Myra belted out the fire spell as it came to her. Instantly, a stream of fire appeared from her hands and, aiming it at the snow, their path became grassy, making it easier to run, even if the cloud roared a hundred times louder with thunder, and strikes of lightning threatening to destroy the grounds.

"Quick, Myra, hurry up!" Arthur yelled above the storm.

"I am hurrying up!" Myra answered. "Fire can only melt snow so quickly!" The desperation in Arthur's voice, however, forced Myra to crank up the spell, forcing the fire to turn entirely blue with its intense heat. She was afraid for a moment that she might set the ground on fire, but it worked better to melt all traces of snow from their path. Myra looked behind her and gasped loudly when she saw the cloud. It had reached the ground now, having become a towering menace of smoky cloud right at their heels!

Finally, they came to the front doors of the castle, and once again, Myra's mind was battered with the same image of the light banging outside the doors. The knife-like feeling tore at her and she threw the doors open with an inhuman strength fueled by her fear and pain. When they were both inside, Myra and Arthur pushed the doors closed, and, in the next instant, they were thrown off their feet by an explosive blast behind them, forcing them to roll across the floor to safety.

Myra struggled to her feet, glancing at the doors. They were banging ajar, a blinding light pushing through the cracks. The haunting memory of the previous attack came to her, and almost immediately, Myra ran through the spells she learned. But in the meantime, she knew that something had to be done to weaken this evil force that had come for them.

Quickly, she turned her body around and looked to Arthur.

"Arthur, quick!" she cried. "Go get the sword!"

Freezing momentarily, Arthur hesitated before he bolted out of the lobby and onto the lavender carpet to the throne room.

With Arthur's footsteps fading down the hall, Myra prepared for attack. Cupping her palms, she cried out the wind spell, and planted her feet on the floor. Inside her hands, she felt once more the cold brushing power of the breeze and, with a deep breath, unleashed it.

Myra was pushed back only slightly when the wind blasted from her hands, but she held herself still as she settled into the spell. The gusts were cloudy wisps, rushing towards the door with incredible speed. The doors vibrated violently, about to crack under the power of Myra's spell and the forces pounding them from the outside. Myra could see the grey clouds stirring in the wind, but they were not giving up easily. She breathed more energy into her spell, and felt it grow strong enough to come up against a hurricane. Her blood pounded, and her hands were becoming numb, but Myra knew what she had to do; hang on, till the very end.

"Myra!" Arthur's voice cut through the rushing wind.

Myra whirled her head around to see Arthur with sword in hand. "Arthur!" she yelled. "Quickly, use its magic!"

Running up beside Myra, Arthur grasped the sword in both his hands. The blade illuminated, beginning to spark different colors of little lightning bolts. Arthur gasped; he had never seen the lightning bolts. They trickled all around the great blade, appearing and disappearing like long, jagged lines of fireflies. It was amazing to watch, but he realized what great magic power was kept within such tiny things.

"What do I do?" he asked himself. He couldn't control it before, so how could he do it now? It had been terrifying enough doing it when there was no real danger, but now? Well, now if he didn't unleash the sword's power in the right way, someone could get hurt, or worse!

Arthur watched Myra's face, scrunched tight in determination. Her hair and robes were blowing back from the great wind spell she was using, and she looked like she might be blown off her feet any minute. But she didn't show any signs of faltering.

Arthur turned back to the sword, and suddenly, he remembered Merlin's lesson. Just because the sword's magic was in the slightest unpredictable, that didn't mean he could run away. He had said so himself the day he accidentally met Myra; he couldn't be a child and run. If he had the courage to accept such an idea, why should he be afraid now? The sword was his, and his all alone, to control. What else could he do but try?

Folding his lips between his teeth, Arthur determinedly held the sword tighter in his hands. He felt a strange feeling emanating from the handle, and it crept along his limbs and all over his body. It seemed like the sword was holding him with invisible hands, spreading its power as easily as if he were standing under a shower of magic. This time, instead of intimidating, the power felt wonderful and strong, instead of frightening and monster-like. Shutting his eyes briefly, Arthur allowed for the power to build, carefully trying to control it as he did so.

"Let's go, Myra!" he suddenly shouted. With a leap, he lunged forward with the powerful sword and cut through the door, the lightning nipping at the wood. Behind him, Myra contained her spell, and followed him to the door, where the smoky clouds began to creep inside.

Arthur pushed the doors open, and swung the sword at the cloud, which broke apart and roared wherever the blade touched. The blade left a large trail of sparkles and light behind, spreading around the cloud which was already beginning to back away.

"I've got an idea!" Myra said suddenly, and she dove under the cloud. "Keep using the sword!"

Arthur then stood still and held the sword pointed at the cloud, which was instantly repelled by the magic. As best he could, Arthur controlled the lightning surrounding the blade and then tensed, as if he was waiting for the sword to become even more powerful under his willpower. He could not believe it- he was actually controlling the sword, a little. He still feared that it would break free at any given time, but he felt good being able to use it.

He jumped back, surprised, when the cloud was blasted upward. The grey wisps scattered, becoming smoke-like, as Myra kneeled under the cloud with her palms cupped upward. White-grey wisps were escaping her, blowing upward in infinite bunches. But despite the power of Myra's spell, the cloud kept creeping back down threatening to swallow her up.

Myra grunted, loud and long. "I can't do it! It's way too strong!"

Arthur dashed under the cloud with Myra and readied himself with the sword. Holding it high above his head, he clenched the handle and let the magic begin to build some more. The blade shone like the sun, but this time, something began to waft from it. A hazy, multi-colored stream spiraled into the air, driving like a nail into the cloud above them.

Angry, the cloud reared up and shot a smoky jet of itself at Myra. It came in an instant, but Myra's heart jumped into overdrive as she dove to her side, about to crash into Arthur.

"Arthur!" she screamed. But instead of colliding with him, she grabbed him by the arm. With a yelp, Arthur fell to the ground, but the sword stayed pointed to the sky.

Then, the sword shone several times brighter, and blasted the spiral of magic even faster, driving into the cloud like a hammer could destroy glass. The cloud suddenly began to disintegrate, and with a final roar, the cloud exploded, and fell away around the two friends.

Arthur and Myra cowered where they were, slowly raising their heads to see what had happened. The sky was now a navy blue with the twilight, and covered all with coming stars, without a cloud in sight. Around them, everything was still intact, with the castle doors open all the way inside. A few splinters were scattered here and there around the entrance.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, only breathing.

"Is it over?" Myra asked, hoisting herself off the ground.

Arthur nodded his head slowly, still in shock from the experience. "That was…incredible," was all he could say.

"Yes," Myra breathed. "I don't believe it; we actually defeated that thing. But…something tells me we haven't seen the last of it."

Arthur looked at the sword in his hands, which was now dim but not completely out. "We did it, though. I…I controlled the sword!"

"Yeah, but…" Myra looked down at her hand, still grasping Arthur's arm, and at the sword still in his grasp. "…maybe…maybe we both did it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, when I grabbed your arm, the sword's magic just got stronger. I don't think I directly affected the sword, though." Myra looked between her hand grasping Arthur, and then to him and the sword. "I think…I was affecting _you_."

Arthur stared wide-eyed at Myra. Then his gaze wandered behind her to the cobblestones in the courtyard. "What's that?"

Myra turned, and narrowed her eyes when she spotted an object lying in the stones. Slowly, she went to retrieve it and picked it up to show to Arthur.

"It's a ring," Arthur said.

"It…it came from the cloud," Myra added. At recognizing the ring in her hand, Myra's heart raced, and her blood ran cold once more. A distant memory flashed through her mind, but it didn't grind at her brain. She knew who the ring might belong to.

"My mother…"


	10. A Mystery Unfolded

**Chapter 10: A Mystery Unfolded**

"My mother…she…she had a ring just like this." Myra's hands shook as she held the ring with the dark crystal on it. "No…it can't be! It just can't!"

Arthur shook his head. "But…you said your mother was dead. She can't be who you think she is."

"We might have to talk to Merlin about this," Myra said after a moment of silence. "He might have figured out a little what this is all about."

"Clever idea," Arthur agreed. "Come on."

Leaving the lobby, Arthur and Myra climbed the stairs to Merlin's room, carrying the sword up with them. It seemed to take longer than usual with the magnitude of their story, but they trudged onward as usual; if there was anything usual about this.

Finally, when they reached the door, Myra rapped violently on the thick wood.

"Who is it?" a gruff voice called from the other side. Now _that _was not Merlin.

"Archimedes, can we come in?"

"What do you want?"

"Where's Merlin?" Arthur asked.

"Well, where do you suppose he is? He's in the library. And, say, aren't you two supposed to be there right now?"

"Now that you mention it," Arthur answered with a light shrug. "We're sorry, Archimedes, but something's happened, and we need Merlin's help."

"What sort of business?"

Myra and Arthur looked at each other before Arthur answered. "We were attacked, by the same thing that came to the castle before. But this time, it almost killed us!"

"Why are you telling me this? Merlin would know more about this than I do."

"And then, we found a little ring with a violet crystal in it," Myra added.

"Wait, wait, wait! Did you say 'ring' and 'violet crystal' together in the same sentence?"

"Uh-huh," Myra answered.

There was suddenly a great flapping of wings from the other side of the door. "Good heavens, good heavens!" Archimedes yelped, his voice suddenly speedy. "Quickly! Quickly! Let me out, and we'll go find Merlin!"

Myra did as she was told, and as quickly as Archimedes had spoken, the trio rushed to the library, throwing the door open when they reached it. Merlin looked up sharply from the table in the center of the room, and stood up quickly.

"Great Scott, what's happened?" he asked, rushing to grab his wand before meeting his pupils.

"Merlin, it's come back!" Arthur answered, breathing heavily from the run across the castle. "The thing…that Myra saw before…it came back! And then it came after us and it tried to kill us and-"

"Be calm, lad, slow down," Merlin said. "Now, tell me everything."

"That evil you talked about- it came back and it tried to attack me and Arthur," Myra explained. "We tried to run from it, but it came after us quickly! And we had to use my magic and the sword!"

"The sword?" Merlin asked, peering at Arthur. "You used the sword?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "Except, this time, I was able to control it, just a little. I think it was actually the sword, and Myra, that saved us!"

"And Myra?" Merlin repeated with a satisfied grin. "Wonderful to know, I will say, but, how did you stop the forces from swallowing the both of you?"

"The sword's magic, of course," Myra answered. "And mine. But, you see, we've discovered a way to better control and boost the sword's power. If I touch Arthur's arm, and cast some sort of spell, I can channel some of my magic through him and into the sword. I'm not sure why that happened, but it might be a way for us to defeat the thing that found us on the grounds."

"Not only that," Archimedes broke in. "But they also found a ring on the ground, in the courtyard. Show it to him." He spoke a little frantically to Myra, who hesitantly took the ring from her pocket and handed it to Merlin.

For several moments, there was total silence as Merlin examined the ring, with the dark crystal resting on a circle of silver. His eyes grew wide, his fingers nearly dropping the ring to the floor as he collapsed into the chair behind him.

"This ring only means one thing," Merlin finally said. "She has come back."

"She?" Myra asked.

Merlin sighed, massaging his mustache with his thumb. "Well, I guess this can't wait much longer," he muttered. "Come, gather around, and I'll tell you what this may mean."

Quickly, Myra, Arthur and Merlin gathered in the armchairs circled around the fireplace not too far off. Archimedes perched himself on top of Merlin's chair, looking down on his master as he began to speak.

"Years back- several years back- I had another student. Her name was Morgan, and she was the most ambitious child I knew. Every morning, she would wake up before the sun had even risen and beg to start lessons right there; but I always had to tell her to wait until after breakfast. She threw her heart and soul into everything she did, especially when she practiced magic."

"A witch?" Myra clarified.

"Oh yes- an extremely ambitious one at that. And, sooner or later, I became accustomed to the little girl just as I did to Arthur. She as well found that she could trust me with her life, and later, when she became a young woman, she told me why she was so ready to become a full-fledged witch.

"Her family had been destroyed, a short while before she came to me to learn the tricks of the trade. Her father was murdered, by the king. And her mother, bless her little heart, was taken by the king as his wife. She tried to leave him, of course, but he would not let her unless she agreed to have another child with him."

Myra sank into her chair. "Great deck and jack! That's awful!"

"Yes," Merlin said forlornly. "She didn't tell me this next bit, but I learned it soon enough. Morgan had been forced by her stepfather to be betrothed to one of his novice friends. And after that, she swore to use her magic to destroy her stepfather, and anyone who dared get in her way. Her magic had changed her, and…it was all my doing."

"No, Merlin!" Myra said. "Don't say that! You had no idea! But…was that why you were slow to take me as another student? 'Cause you thought that maybe my magic would change me too?"

"I do admit that, at the beginning, I was terrified of what the future would be, child," Merlin answered. "But seeing that you fought back to destroy evil, I'm starting to believe perhaps the outcome will be different."

"Don't you remember the ring?" Archimedes interrupted. "What does that mean?"

Merlin turned his icy gaze to the ring. "Ah, I remember that ring. Morgan was handed that ring from her mother, and she wore it all throughout her studies; never took it off once."

"Then, do you think that maybe it's Morgan who's been attacking us all this time?" Arthur wanted to know.

Myra sank further into her chair the more she thought it over. She was so sure that she had seen her mother wear that exact ring; she never removed it. It just couldn't be so. Her mother wasn't a bad person. She hadn't done anything horrible while she was alive.

But…maybe…

"And so, after all this, I saw something coming in the future. The king- Uther Pendragon, his name was- and Morgan's mother, Igraine, had another child. But, I saw a change in Pendragon's behavior. He was a good ruler, but cruel to Igraine when she became his wife. Then, something in him must have come undone. He started to become homicidal, threatening his servants with death if they didn't do his bidding exactly as he pleased. At times, he nearly brought his wife down with an axe!"

Arthur and Myra groaned and wriggled in discomfort over this story. Just how long had Merlin been hiding this story from them? Myra wondered. And the more her suspicions heightened, the more frightened she felt. If her mother was who she suspected, then the evil was one greater than they had previously thought.

"Morgan had left her home at that point, but I knew that my part in this story wasn't finished," Merlin continued. "In the night, I traveled to this very castle, and rescued the baby lad from his crib." He paused, clearly unsure whether to continue. "The both of you must know this, because I haven't told it to anyone up until now. After I rescued the child, I looked around for a home, and finally, I put him on the doorstep of a castle in London- the estate of Sir Ector himself."

Arthur stood still and stared at Merlin, his eyes wide enough to fall from his skull. He blinked several times before coming back to reality. "My father? He was the cause of all this? He…he…?"

"Indeed. Uther Pendragon was your father, and Morgan's stepfather. I'm sorry, lad. I'm sorry that I've kept this from you, but now I think it's important that you know this."

"Merlin, I think I might know who else Morgan is," Myra said, clutching the ring tight in her fist. A mixture of emotion tore through her again- the vortex of anger, sadness, and a little frightened confusion- but she was certain of what she would say. "My mother wore this ring when she was alive. I just know she did."

"Then, if we are correct…" Merlin gave Myra that firm gaze she knew well, but there was a hint of dark worry inside it. "Myra, my child, Morgan- Morgan le Fay- is, in all aspects, your mother."


	11. Questions Unanswered

**Chapter 11: Questions Unanswered**

After an excruciatingly long debate and further research, life immediately became different for Myra. It was discovered that Morgan le Fay was the half-sister of Arthur, and while he had a hard time accepting that, he was instantly easy with the fact that he and Myra were related. Not to mention that Myra had been transformed from ordinary peasant girl to magically-talented royalty. She didn't realize the magnitude of this news until it was relayed to all in the castle, and the guards bowed to her when they acknowledged her presence.

Suddenly, Myra felt afraid. She couldn't believe this. Who'd have thunk that all this time, she had been a princess? A _princess_! The thought actually made her scared and proud of herself at the same time. As princess, she had some say in what happened in England, and if her father so much as put a toe inside the castle, she could have him executed on the spot, especially after what he had put her and Tabitha through since her mother died. Or, at least, death was what she thought it was before all this happened.

Her mother-Morgan- was still alive and kicking with magic. And she was out there, plotting revenge against Myra and Arthur and the rest of the royals. Well, no sir was she going to come in the castle. Because next time, Myra swore that she would conjure a spell so strong, Morgan wouldn't even consider messing with her! Myra would see to it. At this point in time, if any of her friends were destroyed at the hands of evil magic, Myra's anger alone could demolish evil; not much magic, if any, required.

The next day, during lessons, Myra was asked to join in Arthur's studies. As princess, she had a new duty to learn to be royalty, although she would not be on the throne for several years, if at all. She was disappointed that she couldn't practice magic as much anymore, but Myra was willing to go with the flow for now. However, sooner or later, she would ask for more time with her magic. Myra felt that the better her magic was, the less likely of a chance there was for her friends to be harmed. In fact, Myra had an idea for when her magic was stronger.

"Arthur," she said to him one day. "What would you say if I asked to be your personal guardian? I could use my magic to protect you if Morgan ever shows up again."

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked. "Do you really think you can do that?"

"Oh, I'm sure," Myra answered confidently. "My magic is getting much better now."

"I know that," Arthur said. "But…"

"But what?"

"I think…I should think about it a little."

Myra was shocked. With the progress she was making with practice and hard work, she would have expected no hesitation from Arthur. He was there every day when she practiced; he saw practically everything she accomplished. Why shouldn't she be his guardian?

But, then again, perhaps this was too much of a surprising question for Arthur, so Myra was willing to go with it. "All right. But please give me answer soon, because this is something I'd really like to do."

Arthur just gave her a thoughtful glance, and nothing else.

Myra's new idea of being Arthur's guardian sparked an all-out change in the way she practiced magic. She worked extra hard to perfect every spell, not stopping for one second until she had not just a good hand, but a _great _hand on it. If she was going to protect a king, then there could be little to no mistakes in her magic. In any given danger, the future of a kingdom could depend on how well she reacted and handled the spells she cast. And especially unlike her mother, she would use her powers to protect and not for selfish reasons!

Unfortunately, Myra would practice so much that sometimes, she couldn't stay awake long enough for her studies with Merlin and Arthur. In the middle of a lesson, she would just nod her head and before long, she found herself half-asleep on the table. Archimedes would always land on her shoulder, scaring her so that she awakened with a yelp that interrupted the lesson. Merlin took pity on her, easing her back into her learning mind, although Myra could see in his expression a kind of annoyance that bothered her. She felt bad for distracting him and Arthur when she should be joining them, and so she slumped through the lesson with half a sleepy mind.

On occasion, Myra was too sleepy to even finish her supper. And the moment that she was bathed and in her night clothes, she collapsed into her bed quickly without blowing out the candle on her night table. Her magical studies were wearing her thin, and so was her patience. All this time, Arthur never gave her an answer as to whether she could be his guardian or not.

Soon, it was the middle of February. Snow still fell and the days were short, but Myra was beginning to feel like she had made little progress. Of course, she knew that she was working to become a possible guardian for a king, but without Arthur's consent, what was there to work for?

Finally, towards the end of the month, Myra decided not to take her afternoon break in the library. She walked out to the grounds, and strolled alone through the snow. On a good day, she would have brought Arthur with her, but on a day like this, she needed to just think.

What am I doing? Myra asked herself. Why isn't Arthur giving me an answer? I mean, I don't want to rush him but he realizes that Morgan is out there plotting revenge against the castle. He can't be without protection for much longer; Merlin said so- we don't have much time before Morgan closes in and something happens! I guess…I guess I ought to just go talk to him myself.

Myra was quiet for a long time, debating what she should do.

"Myra?"

Jumping in the air, Myra whirled around to see who had so suddenly addressed her. She relaxed when she noticed Arthur standing not too far behind her.

"Great deck and jack, Arthur!" she exclaimed. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"Sorry," Arthur said, holding up his hands in apology. "When I didn't see you in the library I thought maybe you were out here."

"And, so I am."

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, I was…just thinking."

"What about?"

Myra paused before she spoke. This was it, where she might be able to squeeze an answer out of Arthur. Breathing deeply and evenly, she prepared herself.

"Arthur, do you mind me asking you something?"

"No, not at all. What is it?"

"Well…I've been wondering lately. We both know that Morgan is lurking around here, plotting something. She's after both of us, but, the way I see it, I think you're the one she wants the most."

"Why's that?"

"It's for a lot of reasons. You have things she wants- your place as king, and even the sword's magic. But…" Myra took an extremely deep breath before she continued. "…in order to get you, she'll target first what you hold closest to you; your friends."

Arthur gulped. "But she can't do that. I mean, she can't destroy Merlin or you. You two have magic, and Merlin is the world's most powerful wizard. If he can beat a witch like Madam Mim, then, for sure, he can beat Morgan."

Myra shook her head. "I know you have faith in Merlin, Arthur, but you can't always count on him to win. We've seen what Morgan can do; she almost killed us. She's an aggressive witch, who is actually out for blood. From the sound of this Madam Mim, she just wanted to show off her magic. Morgan won't let go without a fight. Merlin is a great wizard, but I think it might be up to us to get rid of her."

"How can it only be up to us?" Arthur asked, giving Myra a strange look. "We barely escaped with our lives the last time. Merlin may just be the only one who can save us. His magic and his knowledge are twice what we have."

"Well, be that as it may, that's not my point," Myra clarified with a long, frustrated sigh. "I guess it won't be easy saying this. Arthur, Merlin is a powerful wizard, but he doesn't believe too much in aggressive magic. And I do; it might be the only way we can defeat Morgan. And in any case, with her lurking around here, it's not safe for anyone, especially you. So, I plead, with all respects and desire, for me to become your guardian."

Myra waited again for Arthur to finally answer her, but he only stayed silent and looked away.

"Arthur, what's the matter? What's wrong with me wanting to protect you?"

"I don't want to talk about that," Arthur said with a deep heaviness to his words.

"Just answer me this one question," Myra pleaded. "I told you before- this is something I really want to do. Think of it as a friendly, no, dutiful service."

"But why? Why do you want to do this so badly? I really don't think this is something for you."

Myra sighed deeply again, and bore her gaze on Arthur firmly. "Have you not been listening to me at all? I want to protect you from Morgan."

"But, Myra, you're…you're the princess."

"And you're _king_! The kingdom needs you more than me. If being your guardian means throwing myself in harm's way, then that's a price I'll pay. Arthur, I've wanted to do this since I discovered what you and I can do when we work as one. There's power in the sword, and with me protecting you and channeling my magic into you at the same time, we're invincible!"

"But what about you, Myra? If you get killed, then who will take over from me?"

"I won't be on the throne for a long time, Arthur. And besides, what would the kingdom think if the king's guardian- princess- failed to protect him? Would they want me on the throne then? Not even I would be able to forgive myself for something like that!"

Arthur gave Myra that same thoughtful glance, but it grew firm. "I won't let you do it, Myra," he answered with a stone-hard voice.

With a frustrated yell, Myra threw herself in front of Arthur, grabbing his shoulders and staring him straight in the eye. Arthur had to know something, and she would _not _let him think otherwise.

"That is _not _what I'll do, Arthur!" she said. "Would I want to be your guardian if I didn't care about you? Look at me! This is what I want to do with my magic; nothing would make me happier knowing that my family is safe, especially you."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, but he stopped and slumped his shoulders. "That's just why I don't want you to do that," he answered. "You're still learning, like I am. And you only just found out about your magic. It might not be safe for you. I mean, you say that being a princess isn't important, but _you _are. I wouldn't want you to get hurt trying to save me."

Myra tried not to break. In her stomach she felt a great heaving sob begin to form, but she couldn't let it come out; it would make her look weak, when she had to be strong.

But then, something in her came loose and Myra tossed her arms around Arthur. She felt him flinch, but now it seemed like this was the only way she could show him how much she cared.

"I care too much to let anything happen," Myra said into his robes, "and I feel it's my duty to look out for you; not as my king, but my family. I don't want to lose my family to evil magic any more than I have. And I especially don't want to become my mother!"


	12. Tensions

**Chapter 12: Tensions**

Arthur stood still. With Myra holding him close to her, it was hard to move. But only just now, it was starting to hit him. Was Myra honestly willing to risk her life to protect him, against a force vastly superior to them? The idea, to him, was unfathomable. Myra was a princess, and a young witch who had barely touched her potential. How could she consider something like that when she had her own safety to think about?

Of course, he could understand Myra not wanting to become like Morgan. After all she had sworn to use her magic for good. But, Arthur wasn't an idiot. He saw what hatred Myra was beginning to harbor for Morgan and her father. Merlin had said that magic can change people, and Arthur had never seen such rock-hard ambition in a person. Myra was determined to make sure that no danger came into his life, but, in the process, the worst could happen instead. That was the very last thing Arthur wanted for her.

"Be careful, Myra," was all he could say. "You know what Merlin said about magic changing people."

"That's not going to happen," Myra stated. "If anyone's going to change, it's going to be Morgan. She'll be a pile of smoldering _ashes _by the time I get through with her!"

Arthur sighed and pulled himself out of Myra's hug. "I mean it, Myra. Be careful and open up your eyes more; before something bad happens to someone." With a turn of his heel, Arthur stalked off to the castle.

"Arthur, you don't understand," Myra said, going after him.

"Neither do you!" he shot back, his face red and just a little bit damp. "You think I don't care that you might get hurt? You're the only real family I've ever known, and I don't want to lose that so easily."

"So easily? Arthur, have you not seen what I can do with my magic? I levitated, burned up, and restored an entire bookshelf for heaven's sake! Come on! When we're a team, nothing can hurt us!"

"What about what you said about not being able to trust even the world's most powerful wizard to win? Well, if that's what you think, Myra, then I'm not even sure I can trust you- with my life!"

Myra froze in the snow, looking after Arthur as he walked into the castle. How could that be? she wondered. He still won't allow me to be his guardian? Did he not get the message? He's king; it doesn't matter if I get a few battle scars as long as he can go on.

Shaking her head, Myra sat down in the snow, not caring if she got her clothes all wet. One little question had turned their friendship sour, and almost instantly, Myra regretted even wanting to fan the flames the question had sparked from the beginning. If she had known that Arthur would be so angry about it, perhaps she wouldn't have even considered it. They were family, and royalty, and had to stay on good terms with each other for an effective kingship after all.

"I'm sorry," she muttered with a sigh. Why did this have to happen when she had to be looking out for Morgan?

Myra's head shot up when she thought of Morgan. If the witch was still lurking around, then surely she might be able to see her coming. And when Myra did, she would go all out to show Arthur she was good enough to be a guardian. The grinding in her mind would be enough to tell her when she could prove herself to the naysayers.

Excitement filling her, Myra stood up and returned to the library, where she and Arthur would be starting on their lessons again. Myra may have been excited about when she would have a vision but, after what she and Arthur had gone through that afternoon, she welcomed a distraction.

All the rest of the day, Myra skimmed through the books she used during lessons, and practiced her magic like she was preparing for a battle in the next minute. Arthur watched her with contempt, and he never once addressed her during the lesson. Myra was sad that for now she couldn't discuss things with Arthur and Merlin as she pleased, but she was still bitter that Arthur didn't want her to be his guardian.

Archimedes stuck by Myra the whole lesson, peering at her emotionless face. He wasn't usually one to watch too closely while Myra and Arthur studied, but he thought this was particularly strange. Myra's enthusiasm showed a lot during lessons, but her face was devoid of it. Curious, Archimedes stayed close and waited for a break in her expression, but not a twitch out of her.

"You say you're fine, girl, but I think different," Archimedes whispered to her.

Myra didn't say anything; she only stared at her book, her feelings starting to show just a little.

"I don't know, Archimedes. I don't know," she said.

"What?" Archimedes wanted to know.

"We shouldn't talk about it now," she said. "We're in the middle of a lesson. I don't think Merlin would like the-"

"Myra?" Merlin prompted. "Any ideas?"

Myra's head shot up and she met Merlin's gaze. "Oh, no, Merlin. I was talking to myself."

"Yes, sure," Merlin said. "Listen, Myra, see me after lessons. I think we ought to have a chat."

Myra only nodded in response, and Archimedes flew back to his perch.

After the lesson, shortly before supper, Merlin gathered Myra at the fireplace, where a fire was crackling gently. He offered her some tea, which Myra gratefully accepted. She sipped it slowly as Merlin pulled her into his conversation.

"Myra, is there something wrong?" he asked. "You were very quiet during lessons, so I'm wondering if there's anything I can do for you?"

"I was sort of hoping you wouldn't ask, but…" Myra finally said. Collecting her thoughts for a moment, she explained to Merlin what was happening between her and Arthur.

Merlin leaned back in his chair, then looked back at Myra. "I don't think it's up to me to tell you what you should do," he said, "but I wouldn't push the matter. Arthur has enough on his plate right now, and so, it's my opinion that you simply leave the fighting and worrying for when it comes. I agree with Arthur, though. You are a princess, Myra, and it's your job to prepare for that position. I know how much you have become attached to him, but it's not your job to look after him."

"But, Merlin, I've told you. I think that if he and I fought together using my magic and the sword's, then there is even more likelihood that Morgan can be defeated. He's just worried about me getting hurt. Well, I won't."

"Myra, we're dealing with nasty business here. Morgan is not Mim. Morgan will fight until she has either you or Arthur's life in her hands, you know that."

"I do know that, but I'm also trying to see when she will come. That way, I can be prepared for her and boot her out of here before anyone gets hurt."

"The way I see it, Myra, you have gotten a little overconfident in your abilities. You can't rely on your visions to tell you when danger comes. Sometimes, I had a little help from Archimedes. He was the one who told me Arthur was in danger when he ran into Madam Mim. If it weren't for him, Arthur might be dead, and you wouldn't be here."

Myra shook her head. "I'm not overconfident. I just want to protect my family, and not turn on the path Morgan took."

Merlin stared hard at Myra, with that kind of power that shook her to her core. She stayed still and didn't speak.

"Myra, how much do you want to protect Arthur? Actually, the better question is, how much do you want to destroy your mother?"

"Very much both," Myra answered. "But…then…"

Merlin put a hand on Myra's shoulder. "We've already established what magic can do to its users," he said, a gentle warning inside his voice. "And I think we've found out what it has done to you. Therefore, Myra, I'll not be teaching you magic for some time. You need time to focus on becoming a proper princess, and allowing for these events to unfold on their own."

"What?" Myra cried, standing up; her tea cup rolled off the table and spilled near the fireplace. "Merlin! The safety of this castle depends upon me continuing to master my magic. Arthur is in danger. I have to protect him!"

"It's not up to you, Myra," Merlin said, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Brains over brawn. Remember that before you hurt yourself. Especially before you hurt someone you care very much about. I hope you contemplate that soon." With a firm stare, Merlin stood up from his chair and left Myra at the fireplace with the cup still spilled.

Myra looked down, feeling dejected. She didn't like this. First, she had upset Arthur, and now it seemed like Merlin was about to come undone too.

Her gaze then wandered to the spilled tea lying near the fireplace. The flames' reflection danced tenderly on the liquid, making the tea look like spilled honey. But Myra was in no mood to take beauty of spilled tea into consideration. There was an unpleasant feeling in her stomach, almost sick. Now, she wished she hadn't spilled the tea, because then she could ease this feeling in time for supper with it. But, to no avail.

Myra's miserable feeling didn't leave her for several more minutes, so she ultimately decided to not go to supper. Besides, what would she have to talk about with her friends, especially Arthur? He was mad enough at her as it was, so what point was there going when her friend was mad at her, and when she wasn't too hungry to begin with?

Standing up from her chair, Myra left the library and went straight to her room, climbing the stairs up at snail's pace. All the way up, she thought of nothing but her inner conflicts. She wanted to please Arthur and Merlin, but she didn't want to leave them unprotected. And what with Merlin suspending magic studies for now, that only fed the flames. Myra felt a flash of anger flare through her, but thoughts of the day's arguments replaced that with dejection and sadness.

Opening the door, Myra slammed it behind her and lay on her bed. After stifling a long yawn, she finally moved behind her changing screen to put on her night clothes and prepare for bed. She slugged through all of it, climbing back into her bed at long last. Blowing out the candle on her night table, Myra just lay there, letting her problems rage through her mind and settle themselves for the time being until she finally fell into sleep.


	13. Cloudy Days

**Chapter 13: Cloudy Days**

For some time after, things were different between Arthur and Myra. They addressed each other at meals, but they didn't engage in conversation too much. The only thing that kept them speaking was Tabitha's happy laughter when she made messes with her food. It was something that all at the table had come to laugh at; even Archimedes got a chuckle out of it when he had a good night out.

February gave way to March, and already the snow started to loosen up for coming buds and flowers in the landscapes. It dripped from the window panes, forming icicles when the weather turned cold for a day. They sparkled against the windows and, at moments during lessons, Myra would get distracted by the way the ice sparkled in the sun. But she was brought back to reality soon enough, when Merlin asked her to listen. Still, Myra couldn't help but daydream; she missed magic practice too much, and the days felt empty without flexing her magic muscles once.

And, now was when Myra missed the long discussions about lessons and just plain conversation without the heavy tension in the air with Arthur. He felt the same way, but he worried that if at any point he talked to Myra she would bring up the guardian business again. Like always, that was the last thing he wanted to think or talk about; it made his stomach churn horribly every time.

Myra's studies seemed to be doing some good for her though. She had found another outlet for some of her magic energy, and Merlin was praising her for how hard she was working since practice had been suspended; for the time being, Myra felt some sanity creep back into her life, although she still itched to practice.

The second week in March marked a fortnight since Myra had formally practiced magic. But since magic had become second to her princess studies, with Merlin pushing knowledge into her mind, Myra actually felt like she could breathe a moment without thinking about Morgan or her wish to be a guardian to Arthur; normalcy was beginning to come back to her.

But, that's not to say the thoughts hadn't totally exited all recesses of her mind.

On occasion, Myra turned her gaze to the empty space of the library where she always worked so hard to perfect a spell. And for an instant, she would imagine herself casting magic onto some inanimate object close to her. It would easily dominate her mind and, thus, Myra missed a good part of a lesson. Merlin, however, began to notice more often and although he could tell what Myra was thinking of, he didn't dare allow her to practice magic anytime soon.

By now, Myra was also accustomed to taking her afternoon breaks to walk around on the grounds. The fresh air helped to clear her mind, even on dark cloudy days like this, and it reminded her of the day she and Arthur had sled down the hill. I haven't heard him laugh like that since then, she thought. Gee, I wish I brought him out here with me. I'm sick of avoiding conversation, and it's definitely about time that I apologize for pushing him too hard about the guardianship.

At that point, Myra had come to just that one hill. The tracks were gone with what had melted away, but she knew where they had been. She suddenly felt hollow inside thinking about it.

"I thought I'd find you out here."

Myra breathed quickly for a second, but she exhaled when she recognized the voice.

"You know, I was hoping you'd show up," she said without turning around.

"Can we talk?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, sure." Myra turned around and met her friend's eyes. "And I'd like to talk to you too. It's…it's about the guardianship."

Arthur's expression instantly turned sour. "No, no, no, Myra, not that again! Please!" He turned and put his hands to his temples, frustrated.

"It's not that," Myra answered. "All right, well, it's sort of about that, actually. But…before you turn around and walk away, I just want to…"

"What?" Arthur turned back to her and looked her right in the eyes, waiting.

Myra opened her mouth to speak further, but it was suddenly like her throat had closed up; the air gone from her lungs. Her skin felt numb, but it wasn't from the cold. Her eyes bugged out, and she put her hand to her throat. In painful silence, she waited for the images to come, for the intense searing of knives to tear at her brain.

But, her mind was blank; black as midnight.

Myra's body burned, and she fell into the snow, getting a mouthful. She tried to spit it out, but her muscles wouldn't listen to her. She shut her eyes in an attempt block out the inexplicable pain, but she only heard Arthur pound through the snow towards her.

"Myra! What's happening! Do you see something?"

Myra shook her head, writhing. She would've tried to speak, but whatever was happening to her wouldn't let her. All she could do was keep her eyes shut and fall deeper into the snow until the pain let up.

"I'll get Merlin!" Arthur said, running towards the castle. He almost made it to the door, however, when in the blink of an eye, something- some_one_- appeared in front of him.

Arthur jumped and immediately tried to run around the person, but was blocked by some invisible wall of sorts. He fell with an _oomph! _and didn't get back up for a moment.

"You've fallen," a woman's voice crooned. "It's painful, isn't it?"

Arthur slowly regained his senses and focused on the woman. She was tall and slender, dressed head to toe in ornate purple robes, lined with gold and white satin. Long tendrils of silky raven hair tumbled to her waist, waving in the breeze like wisps of midnight smoke. She looked down on Arthur with eyes black as her hair, but there was a subtle, wicked glint to them. She was beautiful, but her voice and her sneer told Arthur that she was certainly not an everyday lady.

"You…" Arthur started, getting to his feet. "You're…you're Morgan."

"Morgan le Fay," the woman said. "And you…you're…you're little King Arthur, aren't you?" She mocked his frightened voice and pretended to cower away from him.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur stood still, getting ready to run.

"Just thought perhaps I would drop by to visit my _darling _daughter." Morgan peered past Arthur at Myra, who was still writhing on the ground like a marooned fish.

Arthur gasped, and, with an enraged glare, turned quickly back to Morgan. "Stop it! Whatever you're doing to her, stop it!"

Morgan smiled, exposing two rows of gleaming, but vampire-like, teeth. "Wonderful idea, boy. Do suppose you would like to have a taste?" When Arthur gave her a funny look, she flashed her open palms at him and, in the next instant, Arthur felt his throat constrict and the air leave his lungs. His insides were on fire, and he collapsed into the snow as his skin instantly went numb.

Morgan clapped her hands in a mockery of joy. "I thought that it would look best on my daughter. Turns out a spell like that is divine on you."

_Whoosh! _In a flash, Morgan was blasted backwards by a gust of wind that hit her square in the stomach. She fell on her bottom with a shiver in the snow, dazed but unharmed.

She gave a short gasp of surprise when Myra stood up, her palms still cupped outward towards her. In her hands there was a swirling ball of gray wisps making quiet whispers in the air.

"Myra, darling!" Morgan said, starting to stand up, "how good to see you-"

"Stay down!" Myra shouted, hurling another round of gusts at Morgan, who immediately fell back down. With one hand, she hurled gusts at her mother while, with her other, gentle wisps of air to Arthur. With the air entering his throat, he stopped writhing around, caught his breath, and stood back up. He was about to run when suddenly, he moved into the same invisible wall as before. As he fell, he was dragged across the snow as if by an invisible rope, and came face-to-face with Morgan.

"Hello, Your Majesty," she said. "I would curtsy, but my daughter has me on the ground at the moment."

"And for good reason," Myra added. "You've tried to kill us twice, so why don't I just finish you now!"

"Myra!" Arthur protested.

"You can go ahead and try," Morgan said, "but I highly doubt that you, with my magic in your veins, could do so."

Myra's mouth was fixed in a cruel line on her face. "Oh, I would. I swear on my grave that it _will _be so; I'm stronger than you think I am. I've nearly perfected every spell I've ever learned. In fact, maybe I could take you down to your grave this minute with what I can do."

Morgan yawned. "Oh, yes. Well, what's next, darling?"

"Myra!" Arthur said, "what are you doing?"

"I'm going to save us!" Myra answered confidently.

"Oh? Really?" Arthur said. "To me, it looks more like you're trying to put on a show for her! You're not a perfect witch!"

"Even your friend agrees with me," Morgan said with a laugh. "But I don't have time for childish games. Myra, could you let me up, without any aggression?"

"You liar!" Myra said. "You'll try and kill us again, I know it!"

"I won't even try to tame that little flame you have inside you," Morgan answered. "But, then, perhaps I _can_ tame something."

Myra stopped, frowning.

"Exactly what you think!" Morgan cried, and from her open palms came a gust of wind as dark as her eyes. Myra was thrown off her feet by the blast, landing on her back. Quickly regaining herself, she threw the first spell she remembered at Morgan who circled Myra like a child playing with a friend.

"You can't do it, Myra," she said.

"Want to bet on it?" Myra challenged, throwing a second spell at Morgan.

"Don't be so sure," Morgan said. "You may have the same magic as I-"she dodged another spell "-but you're still a fledgling."

"You're lying to me again! I _know_ what I can do. If Arthur would just let me, I would be his guardian."

"A fledgling witch can never be guardian to a great king, especially you, you little brat!"

"Shut up!" Myra shoved all her energy and anger into one spell, and she threw herself forward with her hands outstretched for release. A huge ball of electrical energy buzzed from her hands; she still felt the heat of her red-hot energy on her hands as she mentally pushed the spell out. Myra would teach Morgan that she was stronger than her; that she was stronger than any witch who would dare cross her path, or Arthur's, ever again!

Still feeling the dangerous energy bubbling through her, Myra cupped her hands to prepare for another spell, perhaps even more powerful than the last one. She whispered the incantation, feeling the energy becoming reality with such an edgy power that she loved it.

Then, when the energy fizzled out and the air cleared, Myra was ready. But what she saw; it caused the energy in her hands to die and fade away into the wind.

Morgan was gone, but Arthur was there. The sword, retrieved from the throne, was in his hand, but it was glinting red. His hands and shoulder were smeared with it. Except, his shoulder was shinier with the red- sparkling as it spilled from his skin.

Her heart flaring up, Myra ran to Arthur and pulled the sword from his hand. After tossing it aside, she pushed aside his blonde bangs and looked at his face. His left cheek was bruised, and his lip cut open. But down below, his clothes were slashed and his shoulder had a wide gash, still spilling blood.

"Arthur!" Myra said loudly, vigorously rubbing his forehead where her hand still rested. "Arthur, Arthur, can you hear me? Please, come on! Please wake up!" She slowly took her hand away, and brought it to her mouth. "Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no, no. What have I done? No you…you…you _monster_!" She cried it out to the sky, on the verge of crying.

"Myra!" another voice called out. Myra glanced up, and saw Merlin and Archimedes rushing towards her. Merlin's face was frantic, and he gasped when he noticed Arthur unconscious in the snow. He bent down and picked up Arthur's head in his hand. "What's happened, Myra?"

"Morgan!" Myra answered frantically. "Morgan was here! She tried to kill us, but I blocked her off with a spell. And…and I guess…I guess I got carried away."

"What? Oh…" Merlin shut his eyes and his lips became fixed. He then turned back to Myra with a fire in his eyes that Myra hadn't seen before. "Myra, I told you to watch what you did with your magic! I thought I could trust you to do that. Is it that hard of a task, to have an ounce of self control?"

"I…I thought I could defeat her if I was strong enough."

"Myra!" Merlin said loudly. "How did you expect to overcome a great evil sorceress with a mindset like that, I'd like to know? Even with great magic like yours, you still have to use your _head_! I've said this so many times before- _look before you leap_! Magic can't do everything for you, and it especially- _especially_- isn't something to boast like you just did."

"I didn't mean to boast-"

"Oh, yes you did, Myra! You led yourself to believe that your magic made you the most powerful witch around, that you could do anything without trying! I told you to watch out before you hurt someone. And, now, look at what you've done. Of all the idiotic stunts, Myra, this is the worst one you've pulled!"

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Myra said, tears starting to well deeper in her eyes with every word Merlin said to her.

"Please, tell that to me and Arthur when you've really truly thought about all this," Merlin said, glaring at Myra as he carried Arthur inside with a glum-looking Archimedes close behind him.


	14. Revelation

**Chapter 14: Revelation**

Myra stayed where she was and, quite frankly, where she deserved- in the snow. She had become so dumbfounded by what happened that she just stared. She stared at the snow, letting the cold waft around her, breathing.

That uncomfortable, almost painful, feeling formed in the pit of her stomach and, when it hit her, she sniffed, trying not to let the tears fall. In times like this it wasn't right to start crying- even if it felt like your insides had been ripped apart and you might not feel happiness for a while.

How could she have been so stupid? She'd promised to do good with her magic, but now she felt like she had committed the worst. One careless spell- one stupid, hare-brained, measly, godforsaken spell- had once more cost her some friendship points. And now, they might as well be gone. After all, Myra had said she would think before she leapt but, when she just had to best things with her magic, her mind ran into the distance, and her judgment with it. Myra chastised herself by pounding her fists into her lap. She then threw them into the snow, picking up a fistful and throwing it far, far away. This wasn't a tantrum; it was an outlet for the intense anger that seared through her like one of her visions.

Blast my visions! Myra thought. And blast my magic! If I'd never learned about any of this, Arthur and Merlin would be safe and Tabitha and I could be roaming free throughout England without a care in the world. Arthur could be ruling a safe, happy kingdom and Merlin wouldn't be teaching me the stupid magic in the first place! I'd be _perfectly_ content not being a princess, and Arthur and Merlin would be _perfectly_ happy without me ruining their lives, especially without getting them hurt!

Myra lay back in the snow, letting the cold overtake her once more as she shut her eyes, and allowed for some tears to fall into the snow, staining her face.

"Forget who's looking, because, sometimes, if you have to cry- just cry." Those were the words of her mother, a woman that Myra once loved enough to die for. Now, that love was burned up in a furious hatred. Because her mother was a murderer, a deceiver, and a demon come to earth! One day perhaps she deserved to die a slow death, but that could wait until after Myra bore a bit of her soul to the unforgiving winter air.

Finally, when the moon peeked out from behind the departing clouds, Myra was called inside for supper. She was hesitant to join, but the rumbling in her stomach was something she couldn't deny much longer.

At the table, she was surprised to see only Merlin and Tabitha. It was a solemn atmosphere and, just seeing them there, Myra stopped in the archway and prepared to enter.

Merlin beat her to it, turning to the archway and beckoning her over. "Come on, join us, Myra. You're welcome over here."

Taking a breath, Myra slowly entered the dining room and took her place at the table next to Tabitha who cooed excitedly at seeing her sister.

"Tabitha's glad to see you, Myra," Merlin pointed out.

"Good to see that," Myra muttered, slowly starting on her supper. "Whoa. Wait. Where's Arthur?"

Merlin frowned at his plate. "Have no fear; he's resting in his bedchamber. Unfortunately, his injuries were worse than we expected so someone had to bring him supper on a tray."

"No thanks to me," Myra mumbled miserably.

"I am by no means adding insult to injury, but you must admit, Myra, that was a nasty predicament he went through. Apparently, the spell was strong enough to knock the sword into his face and body."

"I don't want to talk about it," Myra said, not looking up. "But, you know, Merlin, I'm thinking that maybe this whole thing wouldn't have happened if I hadn't showed up in your lives."

"What are you talking about, Myra?" Merlin wanted to know.

"You know what I'm talking about," Myra answered, a bit more harshly than she intended. "I mean that you and Arthur could be ruling this kingdom without much trouble at all without me. He could be signing pacts and sending out knights on crusade, and you could go on teaching him normal subjects, instead of helping me learn magic. With me in your lives, it's nothing but problems and chaos; especially with Morgan chasing us around all the time. And I'm sorry; for everything I've done."

"Nonsense, Myra," Merlin said. "They say that people come into one another's lives for different reasons. If you hadn't come, we, nor you for that matter, would have learned of your rightful place as a princess. Maybe sooner or later you would've discovered your magic but, without me, you wouldn't have much guidance in learning to control it all. And then, if it weren't for either of you, Arthur wouldn't have known any real family. As far as we know, you and Tabitha are all that he has left."

Myra looked up at last, the tiniest ounce of a smile showing on her face. "So…do you forgive me for what I did?"

"As long as you've learned your lesson, child," Merlin answered. "And, one more thing. If Tabitha wasn't here now, I wouldn't be giving consideration to keeping the next child I rescue from a dangerous fate. Although, I wouldn't like keeping the smelly bottoms." He made a face as he looked at Tabitha, who giggled. Myra did too.

Merlin shook his head as he laughed. "It's been a long journey so far, and I'm proud of you," he added. "But it's very far from being over."

"I know," Myra said. "I still have to reconcile with Arthur. I've hurt him a lot, and I don't plan on losing him just yet to a stupid mistake."

"You'll make many silly mistakes in your lifetime," Merlin said. "But, with the right people in it, you'll see things through till the end."

"Holding on until the end," Myra piped up.

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

After supper ended, Myra slowly climbed the stone stairs to Arthur's bedchamber. She spent the walk preparing for fireworks, because no doubt Arthur had been told what happened. And no doubt after this, there would never be the slightest consideration of making Myra his guardian. It wouldn't surprise me, she thought, because that was one spell I wish I had never cast.

At the door Myra suddenly felt sick, like perhaps she had eaten some bad meat at dinner. The chicken she had _did _taste a little odd, but that was the least of her worries. After tonight, it would be all or nothing- friendship or not at all. For several moments she just stared at the dark cherry wood of the door and allowed for her thoughts to get back in order. But even when she did, she still found herself shaking as she knocked on the door.

"Arthur? Hello?" she called gently.

There was the sound of a bed creaking, and a sharp _shh-sting _sound as curtains were drawn aside.

"Myra?" he called back.

"Listen, um, can…can I come in?" She wrung her hands nervously, shivering.

There was a hesitant silence before Arthur finally answered, "Sure."

Pushing the door open, Myra tried to breathe evenly but she was so nervous that she took baby steps into the room, her slippers not even making a peep as she moved. With a shaky breath she finally came in sight of Arthur, who was lying in a grand and ornate bed of the finest Myra had never seen. Velvet red curtains hung, framing the tall headboard that was decorated just like the throne- golden, jewels speckled here and there, and topped with an enormous crown. Below the splendor lay Arthur, who was still and delicate as glass under rustled blankets of embroidered silk and satin.

"Arthur?" Myra prompted, stepping closer to the bed.

Arthur turned his head and opened his eyes. With a hollow breath, he nodded to acknowledge her presence. "Hello, Myra."

"Do you feel all right?" She sat down on the bed next to him, resting her palm on the silky sheets; they felt heavenly.

"Well, aside from the bandages and the cuts-" he glanced at the bandages and bruises beneath his night clothes "-I feel just fine. It just feels like this whole thing-"

"Don't say a word, I know what you're going to say," Myra interrupted, waving her hands in front of her dismissively. "You're in this mess because of me, and I know that. It was a very bad idea, I shouldn't have been so selfish, and…I'm sorry."

Arthur shook his head, a frown crossing his face. "All right, Myra. That _is_ part of it, but you missed something. After all that I told you, I still can't believe what you did. I meant what I said, Myra, and then you…you just got so careless."

Myra nodded somberly. "I know. And believe me, Arthur. What I did has practically torn me apart, because I did the very opposite of what I wanted. I never meant to hurt you, especially not like this."

"Well, then maybe you should've thought of that before you used magic," Arthur said. "You knew what you were getting us into when Morgan showed up, and you still decided to make it worse. I told you, Myra, that you aren't a perfect witch, and clearly you have no idea what this has done."

"No, I have an idea," Myra answered, fixing Arthur with a firm expression. "Not only did I hurt you on the outside, but on the inside too. You didn't trust me to be your guardian, and this has definitely blown it all up. Now, you probably don't want me as a friend. I realize my mistake, and I hope you know that."

Arthur inhaled and exhaled deeply, keeping his gaze on Myra for several moments. "I am mad at you, Myra, but that doesn't mean you're not my friend now. I just wish you would've thought about what you were doing before you jumped into it. I can't tell you how much Merlin told me brains were more important than brawn. I'd say you were using a lot more brawn than brains."

Myra nodded sadly again, remembering that all too well. "That's right. I did just fire random spells at her. I guess all I thought of was showing Morgan how much stronger I could be than she was. But what I really did was let her get away, and you get hurt. But, you did have the sword. I wonder if you would still be all right if you didn't have it at that moment."

"I actually thought to go get the sword and do something for myself," Arthur clarified. "The sword could have been the thing to stop Morgan. And if you had listened to me when you could, we could've worked together again to get rid of her."

Myra inhaled deeply, remembering how much she wanted to work with Arthur to defeat Morgan. But, once again, brawn overcame brains and she tried to literally have all the power in the matter. She felt slightly sick again. A mistake like this could have been so easily prevented had she just listened and not thrown away everything that Merlin had taught her. Thinking of this only made Myra hate herself, and her magic, even more.

"I cannot believe I fought so hard to fight alongside you, and yet I tried to take it all upon myself!" Myra grumbled. "But look, Arthur, if it made things any better between us, I would gladly ask Merlin to not teach me magic at all anymore. I don't feel much like being a witch when I can't even do it right."

Arthur looked at her with wide, surprised eyes. "Now then, if you stopped being the hard-working happy girl I know, I might as well just ask you to leave the castle."

"Even then I could probably join the church or something."

Arthur shook his head again, a smile at the corner of his lips. "No, you wouldn't do that; you're too happy here. And what about Tabitha? Would you leave her behind while you were free? Do you think you would leave _us_ behind?"

Myra stopped. Arthur was right; what about Tabitha? She was still so young, and was so attached to her sister. Merlin said he liked her, but she somehow couldn't picture him caring for her the rest of her life.

"Holding on till the end," she whispered. "Why do I keep forgetting that?"

"Brawn getting in the way?" Arthur suggested, shrugging.

"Yes," Myra replied. "And again, Arthur, I really am sorry. Right now, I'm willing to do anything it if makes things right again. I feel so stupid that it took harming my very best friend to get this through to my mind." With a deep sniff, a lonely tear appeared and left a wet trail on her cheek. It fell slowly and plopped down on the bed, leaving a large wet circle in the silk

Arthur looked sadly at the tear in the sheet. "Merlin always said that love is the greatest force on earth. It makes us do things."

Myra sniffed before she grinned. "You are my family. I'd die for you if I had to." Slowly, she found her hand lingering near Arthur's bandaged hand and her fingers grazed the rough bands.

Arthur gasped when he felt Myra's fingers touch the bandage; not because it stung, but he felt his heartbeat speed up. Myra may have made some big mistakes in the past, but she was willing to give up everything, even her life, for him. Of course, she had said that last time before she made this one big error but, that one little tear in the bed sheet said everything. His friend meant it from her heart that she wouldn't mess up again; what better truth could you find in that?

"Me too," Arthur replied.

Myra met his gaze again and, with a loud and joyous laugh, tossed her arms around Arthur. Unfortunately, she accidentally pressed down on his injuries and Arthur tensed up with the brief pain. "Ow, ow, ow," he said, wincing.

"Oops, sorry," Myra said, getting back up.

Arthur chuckled, reaching up to tend to his wounds.

Myra reached to touch his hand again, and fixed her mouth into a determined frown. "I'm not your guardian, Arthur, but I still think that we ought to still fight together if Morgan comes back." She looked down sadly at Arthur's bandaged wounds. "I'm surprised Merlin didn't teach me a healing spell. You could really use one right now.

"I think you're right," Arthur answered.

And then, from down in the lobby, Myra's ears picked up the sound of a hard knocking at the doors. She gasped and glanced up, looking towards the bedchamber door.

"Who could that be?" she whispered. "I didn't _see_ the doors, so, maybe this is just a visitor."

"I hope," Arthur added.

Myra nodded her agreement, and then stood up from the bed. "I'm going to go investigate. If it's not an intruder, I'll go to the library and look up a healing spell. It might be the only way to save this kingdom- right now!"


	15. A Return

**Chapter 15: A Return**

Creeping down the stairs, Myra willed her heart to stop beating so fast. She shouldn't be scared when she had to find a spell that would heal Arthur. Perhaps it was just a visitor knocking. But what would a visitor be doing here when, clearly, Arthur hadn't sent for any messengers in the past few hours? Or it could be a blind man who mistook the castle for his humble cottage. She hoped it was the latter.

As much as Myra didn't want to think of it, she wondered if…if _she _was returning. She almost immediately dismissed the idea, because not once did she have a vision of her coming.

But, she hadn't seen Morgan coming before she had attacked the last time…

Myra froze in her tracks, instantly frightened. She almost expected the doors to barge open and evil magic seeping through in that minute. But when they didn't, she continued into the halls and sped towards the library's stairwell. Whatever was at the door, she didn't intend to make it her business.

Not after what she had promised to Arthur.

"Myra!"

She froze once more, craning her head towards the doors just down the hall from her. They stood tall and strong and wooden, but, suddenly, they seemed to be creeping slowly towards her in the stillness.

"Myra!"

Myra jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. Once she swallowed it back down, she looked back and forth between the doors and the stairwell before her. It was tempting to answer the door, as the voice was forcing long lost memories into her mind; not quite visions, but old images of the past. Part of her was now screaming to race to the door to answer it, but the other part was still and tense. Did she dare answer to something that could endanger her?

Not when the voice was so familiar and endearing to a dormant part of her…

Myra pushed away from the stairwell and made for the doors. With the voice behind them, they seemed to be taunting her, luring her to some unknown future. She felt a mix of uncertainty and curiosity, but she didn't feel the need to run just yet.

"Hello?" Myra pressed her ear to the wood and gently caressed it with her hands in anticipation of an answer.

"Myra," the voice said back, an uncertain sound in her ears.

"Who…who are you?" Myra asked, her heart beating against her chest.

"It's me, my little girl. Oh, no. You didn't forget me, did you?"

Myra answered no, shaking her head. She knew who this mysterious person was, but she was testing the boundaries. People like him, on the other side of the door, could be deceiving, even fatal. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to get back my two daughters," he answered. "You ran away from me, and now I want you to come back."

Myra heard that hint in her father's voice. It was the voice that was so smooth and endearing- the voice he had when he had a real family; if it had ever been real to start with. A flash of memories clung to her mind, of the times when she and her father would give hugs and kisses whenever they saw each other, of when they played and talked and laughed. Suddenly she could clearly hear it- the laughter- like it was occurring right at that moment. It seeped into her heart like blood itself, and Myra was more than tempted to open the door. Her hands reached for the handle, fingers clenched around it.

"Please, Myra, my girl. Let me in. I don't know in heaven's name how you ended up here, but I want you to come back home."

Myra clenched her teeth. He was talking to her again- like she was a tiny child who would run into his arms and never let go. Gone was the gruff, monster-like rumble. She was remembering how he laughed when they tumbled in the grass, how he smiled when she did something good, holding her when she shed a bitter tear through a bruise on her knee...

"You shouldn't be afraid. It's just your father."

He was right. He was just her father.

Myra pushed on the door, drowning out all traces of the horrifying memories of the drudgery, and the hovering threat of death…

And there he stood, his graying hair sticking up like bent grass, and his clothes tattered and sooty from the coal and fire of blacksmithing. His face was sunken and wrinkled, but beneath that, Myra noticed the glow of a smile.

"Myra," he whispered.

"Papa," Myra answered, letting the sight of her father sink into her. She never thought it'd be this short a time in which she would see him again.

And now, did she remember. The soot, the sunken face.

The axe.

"What are you doing here?" she asked again, peering carefully at him.

"To get back my little girls," he answered once more.

"Get back?" Myra shook her head in confusion. "But, whoa, wait. How did you find us here?"

"I went around and searched every place I could. I asked everyone I found and they couldn't tell me where you were. And, somehow I felt you wouldn't ever leave London, so, after I'd searched the entire city, I realized I never did what I should've done to begin with."

Myra was starting to get frightened. She knew her father had been like this before her mother's supposed death, but she was also expecting some hostility from him. It was almost like something had possessed him.

Her father shook his head sadly. "I couldn't believe that I hadn't simply come to the castle. The king is still a child, but he's the king nonetheless. I would've asked him to send out every last soldier he had to find you and Tabitha. It could've cost me my life, but I would continue to ask him until he found my daughters. And now, here you are!"

Myra found that all this time, she hadn't absorbed any of what her father said. She was too preoccupied seeing how he smiled with such joy at the corners of his mouth that she couldn't quite believe it all. He had that kind of warm, comfortable sense to him, but Myra wasn't quite ready to trust that. She remembered all too well how this same man had tried to murder her and her baby sister with an axe!

But, wait. He had said he was willing to pester the king until he had to be hung for the sake of peaceful silence, just to find his daughters again. Did he really have that kind of wanting for his remaining family?

"Would you really do that?" Myra asked, stepping forth once more to test the boundaries.

Her father then reached forward and wrapped Myra in such a hug that she found her doubts being squeezed right out of her. He rubbed her hair in gentle strokes, his other hand holding her close, but not so close that she was still uncomfortable. In fact, Myra found she was happy back in her father's arms, and in a fraction of a second, her arms found their way into the embrace. She felt that old, warm surge of protective energy there, and suddenly, the terrifying past didn't mean anything to her. In this moment, she had her old father back.

"It's so wonderful seeing you again," Amos said. "Come, Myra. Let's go back home, if you'll go and fetch Tabitha."

Go back home? That question was unanswerable to Myra. Life in the castle was what she was now accustomed to. And what with Morgan's presence around the castle, Myra couldn't do it. She couldn't abandon Arthur, or any of her friends. Not when he needed her right now.

It took Myra several, thoughtful- painful- minutes before she could finally say something. "No," she said. "No, Papa. I can't go back home."

Her father pulled her out in front of him, looking at Myra like she had lobsters crawling out of her ears. "You can't be saying that now, Myra. You've been missing for months. Don't you want to come back home with me where you can be with your family again?"

"You don't understand, Papa," Myra said. "My family _is _here. Me, Tabitha, and…and…" She paused, not sure how to break the news that she was royalty.

"And…?" Amos pressed her.

"Brace yourself, Papa," Myra said. "You'll be surprised about this." She proceeded to tell him all about how Tabitha had been lost, but then she had entered the castle, only to meet Arthur and Merlin and Archimedes. She grinned as she told him how she and Arthur had become best friends, and finally, her identity as a princess and a witch.

Amos shook his head. "Where are you getting all this from, Myra?"

"Merlin did some research," Myra explained. "Mama is Arthur's half-sister. And, believe it or not, she's still alive, and a witch like me. Except she's not a good witch. She's been attacking this castle so she can get to me and Arthur."

"That's not possible," Amos said. "She's been dead for over a year now. Myra, this just can't happen. Morgan isn't- wasn't- a witch. And neither are you. Magic doesn't exist."

"I can show you," Myra stated confidently. And so she turned to a rock somewhere on the courtyard and took a breath to say the spell.

But the breath wouldn't come.

Numbness overtook Myra's arms before she could direct the magic. It spread through her body and into her legs. A taste like iron came to her tongue, and she sputtered as the air whooshed out of her lungs.

"Myra!" Amos cried, rushing to grab his daughter before she fell. "What's happening?"

"Arthur," Myra gasped. "Go get Arthur. Save the king!"


	16. Red Spell

**Chapter 16: Red Spell**

Arthur was yanked from a drowsy state in his bed when he heard the heavy door slam open.

"Myra?" he asked, his eyes half closed.

"Your Majesty?" a desperate voice shouted. "Where are you? Are you in here?"

"Sure," Arthur murmured, still half-conscious.

In less than a second, Arthur saw a strange gray-haired man rush into his vision. His eyes were wide, nearly bloodshot, and staring right into Arthur's. Arthur jumped backwards into the thick wooden headboard, sending a lightning-speed bolt of pain through his head.

"Your Majesty!" the man yelped, throwing himself after Arthur.

Arthur sat back up and rubbed his messy hair, wincing with the sting in his head. "Whoa, wait. Who are you? What's going on?"

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," the man said, bowing his head. "But, please, you must come with me. My daughter's in trouble."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, still hurting from his injuries and the all-too much blow to his head. In his state of mind, everything was a hazy daze, like he was standing apart from his body.

"Papa! Arthur!" A squeaky voice rose through the air. It took seconds for the man to register the voice, but inexplicably, Arthur's blood ran cold listening to the distressful call. An image zipped through his mind, searing across him like a great blade; a girl grasping her throat, her face blue and her eyes about to pop from her sockets like eggs from a robin.

Sucking in air, Arthur's mind screamed to race for the door. But the red-hot pain that flashed through his hands and shoulders had him pinned to the bed. The bandages suddenly felt heavy, like anvils tied to his body.

"Your Majesty, please, hurry!" the man yelled. "Please, we must hurry! Myra!" He turned and yelled out the window to her, hearing another strangled yelp escape her throat. It sounded like a tiny puppy trapped under a fallen tree, calling out with all it had under the roaring of thunder.

And then, outside the window, a low rumble sounded from not too far away. The clear night sky with twinkling stars slowly darkened, leaving the dense, ominous heaviness that comes before a great storm.

Arthur grunted, and pulled at himself to stand up from the bed, but the bandages were holding him down until he was actually sinking into the mattress.

"What's happening to you?" The man pulled at Arthur's bandages, but he reared back when he felt the rough bands.

They were still white and bloody, but now made of solid rock!

Arthur gasped loudly when he recognized the work done upon the bandages. But it turned into a choppy breath when he felt the bandages squeeze tighter against his hands. His fingers slowly turned pink, then fuchsia, and finally a light purple.

"Ah!" he cried out, as the bandages squeezed tighter against his hands. His skin burned, bolts of pain slashing at him.

"Go!" he yelled over his pain. "Go to Myra!"

The man didn't waste any time. He bolted from the bed's side, and threw the door open. It banged violently against the wall when he tossed it aside, reverberating as loudly as the growing thunder outside.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled. "Merlin!"

In an instant, there was a great flash of sparks and light, and Merlin popped into the room, quickly readjusting his hat. "What? What's happened?" he said, before he laid eyes on Arthur in front of him, who was practically screaming as the demonic bandages squeezed hard enough to crack bone. His eyes flicked rapidly to the window, where flashes of lightning forked the sky. Thunder rattled the windowpanes, and the ground under Merlin's feet shook.

Not wasting a second, Merlin dashed to Arthur and, tapping the bandages with his wand, cried out some words Arthur couldn't understand. The bandages cracked like the lightning bolts, finally breaking apart. They fell to the bed in hundreds of pieces, soaked with the blood of the old bands.

Pushing through the pain, Arthur rose from the rocky bed and started for the door, which was indented in the wood from where it hit the stone wall. "Come on, Merlin! Myra's in trouble!"

"Yes, I knew I sensed trouble around here," Merlin agreed, turning back to face the window. "From the looks of it, Mim is certainly not the one returning."

"Worse than that," Arthur said. "I have to get the sword."

"Don't hurt yourself, lad!" Merlin said, rushing after Arthur.

"That horrible witch won't do anything to me, or Myra!" Arthur said determinedly, barreling down the stairs. "Not this time!"

"You won't go out there alone," Merlin added. "I'll go with you."

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur said, "but I think this is up to me and Myra."

"Should it only be up to you? Myra may do something dangerous."

After they reached the throne room, Arthur purposefully started for the sword resting on the throne, its ordinary blade glinting gently. "We defeated Morgan once together. And I promised Myra- if something happened, I would fight with her. She said she would die for me if she had to, so I have to be there to help her. I almost lost my family before, and I won't let it be taken from me again!"

With fiery determination in his heart, he reached for the handle…


	17. Deathly Vision

**Chapter 17: Deathly Vision**

Through all the treacherous pain and the grinding in her mind, Myra sensed a lingering peacefulness. Her heart felt like it could stop any minute, but there was still that gust of air blowing into her lungs, chilling her blood. It penetrated through to her skin, and she shivered.

By this time, she had stopped fighting what was overtaking her. Numbness filled every part of her, and she slowly felt the grinding become one with that numbness. The coming vision was turning into something completely different from what was the norm. It was like she was drifting away from herself, and yet, to something wholly part of her; very much indescribable. All she knew was that she wasn't quite awake anymore.

Or, was she?

The vision had taken on full form, she knew that, but it felt like such reality that she couldn't dismiss the notion of dreaming. It was like she had been pulled into her mind, with her body waiting outside of it.

The space around her was light, and full of sunshine. The sky overhead was blotchy with crisp clouds, drifting across a canvas of clean blue, so beautiful that angels could dance on top of them. And underneath, there was a wide expanse of wafting water, splashing on white sand.

White sand, right at her feet.

Myra leapt back when she felt the water splash onto her feet. It was cold, but surreally gentle. Waves crashed up to her ankles, and gradually, Myra felt the calm urge to wade deeper into the water. It was beautiful, and just the sort of place she wanted to be when the grinding and the powerful spell had tortured her so.

Into her nostrils, the sweet smell of dewy grass came. Taking a curious sniff, Myra turned on her heel and saw, just behind the wide shore, a massive space of rolling hills and trees and flowers. The sun made the leaves shine like the water, and a cool breeze made the grass and flowers bend in unison with the ocean behind her. The salty air and the grass's dewy scent came together and Myra's heart felt like it was floating on air. The wind whooshed through her ears and her hair, tickling her cheeks, and for a short moment, she laughed, long and hard- just like when she and Arthur had sled down the snowy hill not too long ago.

To Myra's surprise, a particularly strong gust of wind nudged her forward off the sandy beach. Her bare feet touched the grass, which seemed to caress her cut and bruised skin the way that the coat of a kitten feels against a tired hand. It blew gently against her legs, and she sighed and laughed all at once. The sun sweetly touched her bruised back and she closed her eyes, allowing the overwhelming beauty to close in on her. She kept them closed, breathing in the cool wind and the smells of the ocean. It was almost like the whole land was bending itself to surround her and hold her in its heavenly hands, like a baby in the loving arms of her mother.

Almost hypnotically, Myra let her legs carry her further into the hills and flowers bending in the wind. Over the sound of the wind, she heard the faraway chimes of sparrows and cicadas, and the leaves rattling together in a melody that was so calming and fitting with the beauty around her, that Myra just fell.

She fell, and fell, until she reached the grass. The sun kissed her face and the flowers bent to meet her. Myra felt her heart float away with what was left of her imagination, and let it.

Even the grinding in her mind didn't mean anything to her anymore.

Not even the weeping of several people.

Myra blinked her eyes twice, and looked into the wispy clouds passing overhead. She stood up from the grass, and followed the weeping to the tops of the hills behind her. At the top, there was a procession of people marching. Several women were carrying bouquets of flowers of all kinds, some of them matching the exotic ones Myra had laid in.

Myra expected the procession to be short, but she watched as row after row of women walked along the hills, looking down solemnly into their flowers and to the ground. Several of the women were even crying.

Must be a funeral procession, Myra guessed.

For another minute or so, she watched the procession march on. But when she didn't see anything too interesting happen, Myra strode quickly past the crying women. She stumbled sometimes over some rocks on her way, so great was her curiosity about the event.

Finally, she came close to the front of the parade, which was moving into a great valley- one even greater than the one Myra had just been in. The sun twinkled over the vast expanse of green fields and flowers, broken in the middle by a small lake. Trees were placed in rows, speckling the fields. It was so beautiful, that even as the procession marched onward without her, Myra couldn't take her eyes off it.

"Whoa!"

Myra jumped back, in response to whatever fell right in front of her. Curious, she glanced upward and looked into the clumps of green leaves in the tree above. Large fruits hung from the branches, and sometimes swung in the breeze that blew through them.

Furrowing her eyebrows, Myra glanced down and picked up the object that had fallen down, glinting in the glare of sunlight.

An apple. Perfect and round and red, with a short brown stem with a lonely baby leaf still attached to it.

They're all apple trees, Myra thought.

Holding the apple in her hand, Myra yelped in surprise at the moving crowd and kept following them. They moved down into the fields, stopping to rest just before the lake. The crowd dispersed around the lake, and, finally, Myra saw what the procession was all about.

Accompanied by four men dressed in fine clothes, was a slim bed, almost like a coffin, adorned with flowers and wreaths. The flowers and ribbons wavered gently in the wind, and glittered like the apples' skin in the gentle sun. And lying upon the bed, amidst the flowers and finery, lay a man of about thirty or so. He was dressed in the most amazing robes Myra had ever seen, and all the finery he must have ever owned. His eyes were peacefully closed, and his blonde hair was gently falling in his face with the breeze.

Who is that? Myra wondered. He seemed to be familiar to her, but she couldn't place where. Her thoughts bounced off the hills, seeming to echo throughout the valley, and mixing with the voices of the women's thoughts all around her.

And then, the long grasses bent towards the coffin at the lake. The flowers curled towards the man, as a breeze blew through his hair. His form seemed to shift, as another gust of wind picked up the petals of all the flowers adorning his coffin. The petals gathered together in a swirling vortex over him, swirling upwards in a graceful twirl. And when they got high enough, the petals just broke apart, and slowly fell to earth again.

As the petals gently fell back down over the man, Myra heard whispers. The whispers came through her, and then reverberating off of the mournful women around the lake. They seemed to be whispering to her, "Av…valon…Av…valon…

"…Avalon…"

Avalon, Myra said inside her mind, perhaps that's what this place is called.

She nodded as she turned her head back to the bed, where a young boy with messy blonde hair and an extraordinary sword lay.

Myra sucked in a great gulp of air, and broke into a run towards Arthur, lying on the bed where the man used to be. Her heart halted quickly as she came to a sickening realization.

The man _was _Arthur, lying dead on a coffin and brought to be buried here on Avalon.

Myra threw herself at the coffin and opened her mouth to scream at Arthur. He couldn't be dead. Not yet, and not here! It couldn't be!

But no breath or words came from her mouth.

Still, Myra tried and tried to make the words come to her, anything to make Arthur wake up and hear her! She forced them to come until her throat was parched dry, and her eyes began to sting.

"Leave it alone, Myra. He can't hear you. He's dead now."

Myra shoved the voice away with her hand, throwing it in the direction it had come. She refused to listen to it; no one would tell her that about her best friend! She opened her mouth to say "Go away!" but the words didn't come out, not even in a breath.

"Listen to me, darling. You must leave. There's nothing you, or your magic, can do for him. Not while you dwell here."

Myra shook her head as her hands reached Arthur's, and her tears began to fall on them. His own hands were bloody and torn apart, just like when Morgan had come back to get them.

Morgan…

Myra turned, and looked up at the woman speaking to her. And she yelped in surprise and fright.

Morgan was looking down on her and Arthur, a kind smile on her face and her eyes rimmed with tears of her own.

Myra opened her lips again to tell the woman off, but she was silent once more.

"Don't fear me, darling," Morgan said; her lips moved, but her voice came from somewhere else, echoing off the hills. "Me, my sisters, and the inhabitants of Avalon are here to mourn the great king's death. We've carried him to this island after he fought to his death in the Battle of Camlann. He and his son fought a dreadful battle, and this is where our king shall be buried. He has done well, so we shall say goodbye."

"_NO_!"

Myra lunged at Morgan to push her out of her way and away from Arthur, but she felt nothing.

Her hands had passed right through Morgan.

"Go, Myra," Morgan said. "Leave this place."

Myra cried out again, and grabbed Arthur's wounded hands once again. But she couldn't touch him. His hands, his body, were as ghostly as Morgan was.

Myra shook her head, her body shaking, and her heart breaking. She couldn't believe this! This couldn't happen! Arthur couldn't die, not even as a man fighting in battle. He had to live!

And I'll see to it! Myra thought. When Morgan comes back, I'll protect him until I'm the one being carried to Avalon.

Myra swore her protection until, at long last, the grinding slashed at her in her mind, and she doubled over on the ground next to the coffin. The pain and numbness yanked her from her place there, and for several moments, she was caught in a dense fog as the space seemed to melt around her.

And then she gasped, her eyes shooting open.

The grinding was done. For good.


	18. The Giving of the Magic

**Chapter 18: The Giving of the Magic**

Arthur's fingers grasped the sword, clenched around the golden handle tightly as he could.

And as quickly as he had grabbed it, the magical warmth touched him like the sun on a winter day. Some tiny sparkles wafted around his hand as he lifted the heavy sword from the seat of the throne, spreading along the blade. The steel glowed with heavenly light, shining brightly enough to illuminate the entire room. With the sword in his hand, Arthur's determined face glowed with the semblance of a mighty god, and Merlin couldn't deny that he was impressed by his pupil's spirit- his courage in stepping into this.

Taking the first step, Arthur held the sword tighter and dashed from the room and towards the lobby. His footsteps thundered against the floor, the sword waving gently as he ran that quickly. The sword was really heavy in his spindly arms, but that was the very least of his worries. Even from inside the castle, he could hear Myra's screaming and it chilled him to the very bone to hear her making such _inhuman _sounds. He knew visions hurt, but this one had to be close enough to practically kill her.

Arthur's heart just about stopped at the thought.

At last he reached the doors. Passing the sword to one hand, Arthur used the other to pull at one door. He expected the door to swing open easily, but it didn't.

Arthur gave it another hard tug, but even after several seconds of grunting, the door wouldn't give way.

Frustrated, Arthur took hold of the sword in both hands, pulling it back for a great swing. He kept his eyes on the door, breathing evenly for what he was about to do.

"All right," he said, taking in a breath. "I can do this."

Hefting the great sword in his arms, he stumbled backwards and then swung himself forward. The blade swung down faster than he expected, and Arthur let out a surprised yelp as the sword glowed to powerful life, and broke through the doors like they were made of paper. They fell down into the courtyard, now soaked with the rain. A cloud of red and yellow lightning drifted around the doors as they lay in the rain, amid an even larger silver cloud of lightning. The silver lightning disappeared with a loud hiss, almost like a defeated scream.

Even above the loud crackle of thunder, Arthur heard Myra's screams clearly as day. He wiped the raindrops from his face and hefted the sword in his hands again to find his friend. She couldn't have gone this far in the rain- that much he knew.

"Ahhh!"

A sudden scream forced Arthur to jump back into the doorway, almost dropping the sword in the process. He glanced with surprise at the fallen doors in front of him. 

A bruised and battered hand had burst from the wood, and began to grope around desperately.

Arthur jumped again, but his eyes widened even further when he recognized what lay beneath the rubble. He bent down, let go of the sword, and began to pull the mess aside.

Finally, he uncovered an arm, followed by a head of messy brown hair. It looked like a bird's nest perched upon the blue-and-black face of a mad looking girl.

"Myra!" Arthur was shocked to see her, especially when she looked like a raggedy mole.

Myra's face was dazed and still. Slowly, her eyes widened and an enormous grin broke out on her face as she threw herself forward. Arthur fell backwards as his heart took a leap in seeing his best friend.

Myra's arms locked around Arthur, and she made a sound like she was tearing up.

And she was.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you!" Myra said through her tears. "I thought…I thought the worst had happened to you."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked. "I thought you were the one in trouble, not me."

Myra gasped and pulled back from her embrace. "Oh, gosh! Arthur, your hands! How…how? How in the world did you manage to blast the doors down, when they-"

Arthur's eyes widened as he lifted his hands to eye view. Myra had the same reaction when she glanced at them.

His hands were completely healed. Not a scar or a cut anywhere. The skin was pure and clean, like they had never touched a knife's blade or anything at all.

"How did…?" Myra's voice trailed off as she reached for Arthur's hands. She looked them all over, and her eyes never stopped widening.

Arthur glanced at his side, where the sword lay. Taking it in one hand, the handle gentle blazed red and yellow light, drifting in wisps around where his fingers touched the gold. In the light, his skin once again took on the look of a pure angel, even in the rain.

Myra sucked in a deep breath in surprise. "The sword? Oh…my word, that's incredible. Did you…?"

Arthur shook his head, still staring at the amazing sword. "No, I didn't know. I can't believe it. I…I thought this sword was wonderful before, but…it's…I just don't believe it."

Myra shook her head in agreement, but the heavenly glimmer of the sword made her remember the vision. It took a lot of her willpower to not cry, and even more to push it out of her mind. It was too real, however, for her to still dismiss as a vision, and to her, it felt like any moment, she would see Arthur lying on a coffin of flowers and memory wreaths. She had to turn away to finally rid herself of the memory, but in the process, she actually did start crying again.

"Myra? What's wrong?" Arthur wanted to know.

Myra shook her head. She didn't want to risk letting loose her feelings right now. The vision was too horrible for her to speak of, especially to Arthur- to anyone.

But, her hands- from when the vision and Morgan's spell had taken her by surprise- _were_ battered and bruised from banging the ground so hard. What if…?

"Nothing, it's-" Myra turned around and lifted her hands to the light of the sword "-it's my hands. They hurt a lot from Morgan's spell."

Arthur took in some fast air, but he was still quick to react. He lifted the sword, and held it out to Myra.

"Take it," he said. "It'll heal you."

Myra smiled gratefully as she took the sword, preparing for the warm blaze. She was ready to soar with the glorious feeling the healing was sure to give her.

But nothing came, not even the tiniest spark of light.

Both Arthur and Myra's grins immediately dropped. Arthur took the sword and looked it over and under.

"Well, that's strange," Arthur remarked. "I guess…"

"It _is _your sword," Myra finished. "Maybe it was only meant to heal you. It's all right, though."

Arthur shook his head at the sword in pity. "What? That's not…Oh, I'm sorry, Myra."

"I said it's all right," Myra repeated. "These bruises can heal themselves."

"Not when I'm finished with you!"

Arthur and Myra leapt off their feet and turned to the voice that had frightened them so. And they both almost screamed when they saw her.

"Myra, darling! So good to see you again. And in such peak condition." She sneered subtly before she reached a hand behind her back, and pulled out something.

More like some_one_.

"Myra!" the captive yelped in a strangled and hoarse voice. "Help me!"


	19. Morgan Returns

**Chapter 19: Morgan Returns**

"Papa!"

"Myra!" Amos cried back. "She's got me!"

"Morgan, what are you doing to him?" Myra could already feel her powers flaring up inside her.

"Nothing that which you are thinking of," Morgan answered. "Papa here is merely a pawn, if you will, in bringing back my sweet daughter."

"It hasn't worked," Myra said. "I know who you are."

Morgan grinned. "I know that, darling. You think I don't know who _you _are? That's exactly why I won't attempt to toy with you. I have your father, and I have myself. And so now, I ask that you and Tabitha come back to us. I could teach you things, Myra. I could teach you things that not even the world's greatest blunderer, Merlin, could."

Arthur stepped forward, brandishing the magic sword. "Don't bring Merlin into this! Or I'll slash your head off!"

"Your Majesty," Morgan addressed him with a mocking curtsy. "I didn't see you there. Or, wait a moment. Either you weren't there before, or I couldn't see you with your miniscule size." She laughed briefly; Amos gave her a hateful glare. "You're wasting away being here, boy. An obscure little child like you could never rule. Not even with both a wizard _and_ a witch by your side."

"Well I think he's going to be a wonderful king!" Myra said boldly. "Merlin himself said that Arthur will go down in history as one of the greatest historical figures- kings- of all time! And besides…" She let her voice trail off.

"What?" Morgan asked gruffly.

"…the sword _chose_ him! Brought down from heaven itself to make _him_ king!"

"Not even you could match its magic!" Arthur added. "Didn't you see what it can do the last time you came here?"

Morgan shook her head, grinning slyly. "My dear children, have you both deluded yourselves? I know firsthand what the sword's powers are. It took a shipload of healing spells to bring myself back from the last blow you forced me to take. But you know what that means. The sword- and you- cannot defeat me."

Myra let out a yell and a ball of magical energy shot from her palm, smacking Morgan in her face.

"No! You're the one who's deluded! Trying to go against us a second time was a bad idea. Especially when you're in the way of a so-called puny witch who will give her life to protect her king!"

"Oh, sweet loyalty. Certainly warms my heart to see my daughter so dedicated to wasting her life away!"

Amos gave Morgan a kick in her side, but Morgan fixed him with a deadly glare that made even Myra and Arthur wince.

"And does His Majesty return your loyalty?" Morgan said, smirking at her daughter.

Arthur surprised Myra by grasping her hand in his. "I'm king," he answered. "I'd die to save my kingdom. That goes especially for my family."

Morgan shook her head and started to play with her writhing hair. "Well, I truly hope it shall stay so. A king has to fight battles in his reign, and I can say this moment that a war- one beyond even your fondest imagination- shall come."

Myra's blood started to run ice cold. "What war?" She instantly regretted the question.

"The Battle of Camlann, dearest."

Myra's heart seemed to have briefly stopped. It couldn't be so. How could Morgan know about the battle when that wasn't to come for several years? Did she know that Arthur would die in that battle?

Did she know about Avalon?

Closing her eyes, Myra forced all thoughts of the vision to disappear. This was one vision that she refused to believe would ever come true. And nothing, not even Morgan's magic could make her think otherwise.

Morgan's magic…

The memory of the combination of the spell and Myra's vision suddenly made her fingers clench and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up like grass. She shook her head, not believing what had been done to her.

"You're tricking me!" she yelled at Morgan. "You only cast that vision into my head so I would become weak. There won't be a battle of Camlann. There is no Avalon, and you certainly will _not _mourn anyone!" She took another step and felt the radiating power in her hands. "You twisted, awful witch! Oh, if I knew the spell right now, I'd _kill_ you!"

Morgan was still, but she then let loose a long laugh that only forged a dangerous glare in Myra's eyes. "Oh, darling," she chuckled. "Why take the time to blame me for your own ability? Every single vision you attain is as real as you are. They never lie to you, and it's never wise to shove one aside. It would be like shoving aside yourself, or better yet, shoving aside _him_!"

Myra followed Morgan's pointing finger to Arthur, who looked on with confusion.

"What's this all about?" he asked Myra.

"Ah, so she hasn't told you," Morgan crooned. "Well, go ahead, Myra. I can assure you we are all looking to lend an ear to your _intriguing _vision."

Myra held her breath, her heart pounding against her chest at having been put on the spot. It didn't help that Morgan, Amos, and Arthur were all looking her down in anticipation of what she would tell them. A terrified frown on her face, she glanced at Arthur out of the corner of her eye. But only briefly. The magnitude of her vision was too much to think of and look at him at the same time.

Still holding her breath, Myra felt the vision roll through her mind once again. But she finally sucked in air and let words roll off her tongue.

"My vision was-"

"Tell us!" Morgan commanded harshly.

"- I saw one of the greatest events ever to take place in the history of England."

Morgan leaned forward with interest.

"You being wiped off the face of the earth!"

Myra hurtled herself forward and, yelling out her planned spell, tossed it through the air at Morgan's hand, where she clutched Amos's spindle neck. Swiftly, Morgan made a grab at where the magic had struck her, and Amos fell to the ground.

"Run home, Papa!" Myra shouted at Amos. "Get the axe!"

After Amos left, Myra kept her hands open, anticipating Morgan's next move. Arthur took his position next to her, holding the sword bravely in both his hands.

"You horrible brat!" Morgan shouted, throwing her hand in front of her. A deadly bolt of lightning flashed from her palm, and zipped through the air towards Myra, who easily deflected it with a spark of her own.

But Morgan was not finished just yet. Marching ahead, her hands glowed a dark violet, sparking with the same deadly lightning. Her dark hair started to rise off her shoulders, writhing like snakes on her head, and her void-like eyes suddenly flashed white.

Myra gasped, and drew her hands back in surprise. Morgan had turned monster-like, and the magic crackling at her fingertips looked strong enough to kill quickly. For a brief moment she considered firing back, but it seemed imprudent to try that when she was coming up against something so deadly. And besides, she was afraid.

Yes, she was afraid. She was used to throwing every spell she knew at once at her enemies, but this wasn't practice, and definitely not a game. She and Arthur were facing real evil, something that could kill them if they made a wrong move.

"Where to now, children?" Morgan's voice became slithery and high, like a snake's.

Neither Arthur nor Myra had an answer to that. They merely stood where they were, magic trembling beneath their fingertips.

Morgan smiled, exposing her shark-like teeth before flashing her palm out towards the two children. Lightning bolts flashed dangerously their way, and both Myra and Arthur leapt out of the way as the lightning charged against the ground. The sword clattered briefly out of Arthur's hands before he swiftly lunged for the handle. The handle blazed brightly quickly, and he threw himself to his feet, followed by Myra.

"Oh, no! Not Arthur!" Myra growled at Morgan, her thoughts twirling through her for the right spell. She raised her hands. "This will teach her not to _toy with him_!"

Pulling her hands back like a baseball pitcher, Myra threw a ball of sparkling glitter at Morgan, followed by another made of green and purple sparkles- both of them hissing madly as they whirled through the air.

Morgan's eyes caught the swirling balls just as they came close to her. They bounced against her head and they dissolved around her, falling and swirling alongside a cruel, cold wind.

Morgan shivered, pointing at Myra through the swirling, blowing snowstorm Myra had conjured. She opened her mouth to speak, but a green sparkle danced before her eyes, becoming a Venus flytrap. The two flaps of the spiked mouth closed on her nose and she let out a loud, inhuman screech.

"That'll teach you to mess with any of us!" Myra yelled at the evil witch. She immediately turned her head to Arthur. "Quickly! Let's go!"

Together, Arthur and Myra made a mad dash for Morgan, both of them feeling the mad rush of the magic they held. Myra racked her brain for another spell, and suddenly the blade of the sword glowed brighter.

"Foolish girl!"

With a cry of shock, Myra instantly found her face meeting with the hard cobblestones in the courtyard ground. Her skin hurt terribly, and slowly she felt something sticky and hot running from her elbows and cheeks. At her feet, she felt the chill of smoky wisps wafting around her.

"Myra!" Arthur yelled. Whipping his rain-soaked head back to Morgan, he watched her inch closer to his friend with a terrifying swiftness and lightning at her fingertips. Brandishing the blazing sword, he ran far behind the wicked witch, and then, hefting the weapon high into the air, let it plunge into Morgan's bony back!

The witch screeched with her head to the flashing sky, as Arthur pulled the sword from her with a grunt. His heart pounded a thousand beats as he prepared for a second blow, the witch's blood washing from the glowing blade in the rain.

"Whoa, wait, _whoa_!"

Arthur felt a blow all around his torso as something grasped him tightly. The blow knocked all his air out, but he still managed to grasp the sword in his hands, flaring up with his frantic heartbeat.

"Poor helpless child," Morgan crooned, as she lifted Arthur into the air with her magic. Giving a hard swing around with her spell, Arthur was pulled along with it. He was being pulled along with such force that when Morgan jerked him a second time, his fingers gave way and the sword fell from his hands. "Without the sword's magic, you're nothing. Nothing but a lowly squire named Wart!"

"I'm not afraid of you!" Arthur said, banging his fist on the magic surrounding him. It wavered with the force of his fist, but it didn't manage to break.

"Oh, but you should," Morgan said, making a mock sad face at Arthur. "You're no wizard. And your only hope of survival is unconscious on the stones."

"No," Arthur murmured. At the mention of Myra, his stomach dropped and his courage instantly plummeted.

"Aahh!"

Arthur covered his ears as Morgan screeched out yet again. Her hands loosened and the spell holding Arthur captive was immediately gone. He raced away from her and took the sword back again.

Arthur looked up once he had regained the sword, and gasped, standing still where he was.

Axe hefted in his rough hands, Amos now stood before Morgan, the blade of his weapon now stained with blood.

"Unhand them all!" he called out. "And get out of this place before I kill you right now!"

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Truly, what is it with humans believing they can overcome a great witch like me?"

"Perhaps not alone. But, with me, they can."

Everyone in the courtyard turned and stared when the voice sounded through the thunderous atmosphere.

Merlin hurled his wand at Morgan, a stream of magical sparkles blasting from the end. They hit their target right in the witch's eye, and she put a hand over it in shock.

But she quickly recovered.

"How many times must I destroy you all?" Morgan yelled, charging towards Merlin, who disappeared the moment that she almost touched him.

"Where in the world…?"

Instantly, Morgan jumped ten feet in the air when, behind her, a blue-scaled alligator closed its jaws.

"Merlin!" Arthur cried, surprised as well as impressed.

"Arouse Myra!" Merlin commanded. He dashed to Amos's side as the two of them worked together to hold off the recovering Morgan.

Not hesitating a second, Arthur raced to Myra, who still lay in a growing puddle in the cobblestones. He turned her over, and gasped when he saw the cuts on her cheeks. They had stopped bleeding, but they were pretty critical.

Arthur took the sword in his hand and touched the handle to her cheek. It didn't do any good; the skin didn't close up again.

"Oh!" Arthur grunted loudly and clenched the sword tightly, bringing it up as if to smash it back to the ground. This was ridiculous! The sword should be able to heal anybody, not just him- and now, when he needed Myra the most! Now was when Arthur wished he was a wizard, then perhaps he could heal Myra himself.

There had to be another way. The sword was his to control, and it would perform whatever magic he asked it to. Myra had helped him the last time they defeated Morgan by holding his hand and channeling her magic through him to the sword.

What if…what if…?

Arthur's face lit up with the surge of excitement he felt, causing the sword to light up like the stars. Quickly, he grasped Myra's hand in his and looked to the sword. With his thoughts screaming through his head, Arthur let the sword blaze even further to life, swirling with red and yellow. He turned back to Myra and grasped her hand tighter.

"Come on, Myra! Come on, you can do it!" Arthur pleaded, his thumb massaging Myra's hand gently. "I won't let you down."

Arthur shivered suddenly, as a great wave of magical energy blazed into his hand. He felt the warm, powerful magic flow along his arm like honey, and then touching along through his chest, where he was briefly overtaken by a wave of beautiful pleasure. It ended as the magic left his chest and then into his other arm, where, finally, his hand glowed softly. It radiated gently like fire, slowly touching on Myra's hand.

"Gaah!"

Arthur jumped back, letting go of Myra's hand as she jolted back to life. She shook her head to release her shock, finally looking around her. Arthur was looking at her too, just as surprised to see that his idea worked. The sword _could _heal anyone; he just had to control the sword's magic through _himself_!

Finally, Myra looked at Arthur. Her face was shining, even in the darkness of rain, and without the sword's powerful light. And with her face beholding that shine, she smiled.

"You did it!" she breathed. "Arthur, you really did it!" Her voice rising to a crescendo, Myra tossed her arms around Arthur, grasping him so tightly she could feel his heart pounding excitedly against her shoulder. Arthur immediately dropped the sword, and put his own arms around Myra. He couldn't express in words how happy he was to have her awake again, only that he was overjoyed.

"I was in an awful pickle out there!" Arthur said. "But, oh, thank goodness you're back, Myra!"

Myra nodded her head, patting her hand on Arthur's back. "Yes, I know." Giving him one last squeeze, she broke apart from the embrace.

"All right, Arthur," Myra murmured, turning back to Amos and Merlin. Merlin was changing back and forth from human to animal forms, fighting between his wand and different animal abilities. Amos was only dodging Morgan's spells, the axe still clenched in both hands ready to swing for the kill at any minute.

Whispering a few incomprehensible words, Myra felt the magical energy bubbling between her fingers. She looked determinedly back to Arthur. "This time, Morgan's not going to walk away laughing in our faces. We'll finish her for good."

Arthur reached beside him and picked up the sword. "Just one jab didn't kill her before," he said, beholding the brightening sword. "But we can do it together."

He brandished the sword in one hand, and held out the other. Myra slapped her hand down onto Arthur's palm, and, with a courageous cry worthy of great battle heroes, they charged into the fray.


	20. The Showdown

**Chapter 20: A Showdown**

Morgan grinned at what a battle she was having. With her daughter out of the way, defeat wasn't even a possibility anymore. It was amusing to her seeing how silly Merlin looked, blundering around in animal forms; not to mention her old husband playing around with the pathetic axe. Genuine and good magic was- and had always been- such a bore to her. She felt a rush of power when black magic overcame her enemies, and it allowed her potential to be so much higher.

Particularly when she could easily overcome the oh-so-great King Arthur and his sword.

Then, why did she see him and her daughter running together back into her battle unscarred and alive?

"Myra!" Morgan cried, freezing where she was. "Can…can it be…?"

"Yes it can!" Arthur waved the sword at his side, as if teasing the great witch.

"Myra!" Amos called to her. "What are you still doing here? Go back home, get out of here!"

"This is our battle, Papa!" Myra answered bravely. "Only Arthur and I can finish this!"

"Use your heads!" Merlin commanded. "Remember what I taught you both!"

Arthur turned quickly to Myra. "It has to be done now!" he said, "before she gets any stronger."

"Um…Arthur?" Myra said, looking horrified in front of her.

"What is it?"

"Look!" She pointed in front of her, and Arthur followed her finger, at which point he gasped, almost dropping the sword.

Morgan's eyes glowed ominously white, her hair writhing in the air, the ground beneath her starting to tremble with the magnitude of her power, and powerful bolts of lightning flashing in a growing circle of energy around her. It emanated massively from her- a cold, electric field of solid energy that sent chills up and down the onlookers' spines. And as the energy increased around the witch, Morgan's pale face seemed to take on a monster-like form, contorted and menacing in the light. She smiled with her shark-like teeth, completing the appearance of an otherworldly demon.

"Come to me, children," she crooned, her voice a loud and high hiss.

"Now!"

"Myra, do it!"

"Raahh!"

All in that instant, all broke out! Arthur and Myra raced to unleash their own magic, as Morgan conjured a spell beyond anything any wizard had ever seen before; a combination of fire, wind, and powerful energy, all blazing in a dangerous stream towards the two children. Dust and grass blades joined in the roaring inferno of black magic, flying by the thousands.

Myra and Arthur both squeezed their eyes closed, holding on to the control they held over their magic. Arthur, especially, was trying his very hardest to stand his ground against Morgan's power, as the deadly magic was targeted straight for his sword's blade. The sword glowed like the sun, seeming to build a stronger shield for itself against its enemy as the magic flew off of each other in great sparks and streams of energy going in every direction! The collision made a great roaring, loud as a thousand lions and animal screeches coming together.

Myra squeezed Arthur's arm tighter, using her strength to hold him up against the forceful spell. But doing that with something that was ten times the strength of a little witch like her, it was easier said than done. Slowly, her body started to ache, and she was about ready to give up.

"No!" Myra shouted, half at herself and half at Morgan. "Hold on, Arthur! I'll help you!" Immediately, Myra put both her hands on Arthur's shoulders and shut her eyes tighter closed. She would not let herself think of Morgan, or Merlin, or Amos, or anyone else. All she could do to properly channel her magic was focus on putting everything she had left in her, into Arthur. But this time, it was slightly harder to do when something so much larger than her was coming closer every second to killing her.

"Don't let go!" Myra yelled to Arthur over the roaring as her magic streamed rapidly out of her.

"Give up!" they heard Morgan command. "You are both only children. Your powers aren't enough!"

And then, in hearing her mother's voice taunting them so, Myra felt something terrible boiling inside her. Her magic was staying just as strong as ever, but, hearing Morgan saying one more time that they couldn't do it…well, something in her snapped.

Myra screamed- a scream that came from the very bowels of her heart and her soul.

A surge of power blasted from that scream, channeling through her hands to Arthur's arms and into the sword. It shook the two of them like an earthquake, increasing both their heartbeats tenfold, but they never faltered in controlling the magic.

Arthur's hands burned from holding the sword so tightly, and although he was about ready to collapse with the power surging through him so quickly, he was simultaneously strong. In holding the sword with such stance and courage, it was something to behold for him. The sword's power was monster-like in its scope, but he felt invincible just being able to control its massive force. It was the first time that, while holding the sword that had chosen him, he felt like a real king- a king that was throwing his life and soul on the line just to protect his subjects. And with Myra just behind him, he felt even more so. For what kind of king would he be if she hadn't given him so much in the last few months?

These thoughts flowed gently through Arthur's mind, coming in touch with the strenuous waves of power rushing all throughout him. It was a real rush, and it reminded him of the pleasurable feeling he got when he used the sword to heal Myra. And now, although exhaustion threatened to overtake him, the feeling of goodness and belonging wouldn't go away. They were feelings that he now felt from the tips of his toes to the bottom of his heart, and within that part of him, he now knew something.

"I never would've known that being a king would be so scary, and still so amazing," the voice in his head spoke to him. "I didn't want to be king, at first. But now I know something else. I not only got a country, but I also got the sword, and Myra and Tabitha. I've been given the power to heal and protect others, and even something that I care a lot about. I have a family, and just like Myra, I would die trying to keep them safe. I'm not just living for England- I'm living for my family!

"And I won't let them go!"

Arthur's hands instantly felt searing hot, and his eyes felt like they would burn out from the intense light the sword gave off, but the fire burning inside him blew that all away. The sword was becoming an energetic beacon in his hands, and in an instant, his hands were flying through the air, his whole body taking flight with the sword. Myra's hands were still clutched to his arms, her magic blazing through him. The feeling still made his heart soar as high as he leapt, but now, all that truly mattered was the mighty sword and Morgan's towering and monstrous face coming closer.

And with a great swing of his arm and a swelling of magic from Myra's close arms, Arthur made the sword to come crashing down through the flaming space of magic all around him!

An inhuman screech was all that he heard when the sword exploded through the air in a cloud of red and yellow lightning bolts and a white void overtaking him when he and Myra fell back to earth.

And when the screech was over, the roaring ceased to sound, and the sword, still steadfastly clutched in Arthur's hand, was soon nothing but a sweet candlelight in the gentle rain.


	21. Great Legends

**Chapter 21: Great Legends**

Magical sparkles danced around the courtyard like summer fireflies. Remnants of the wicked Morgan scattered here and there, but they were easily diminished by a spell Merlin rapidly conjured. He ran to Arthur and Myra, both peacefully unconscious in the sopping grass. They lay next to each other, their hands touching the heavenly handle of the sword, which, even with the long passing of time, was still glowing gently golden.

With another wave of his wand, Merlin magically carried his pupils to their chambers, where, with the help of a nurse, he bandaged their new wounds and made them comfortable in their beds, for they would be sleeping for quite a while with the adventure they'd had.

Merlin went back and forth between Arthur and Myra, watching out for them until they would wake up. Even Archimedes looked on with him, surprised to hear of what they had accomplished together.

It would be several hours before one of them awakened.

As if from a peaceful, dream-filled sleep, Myra slowly opened her eyes. She sucked in a quick breath when she recognized the ornate designs of her bedchamber walls and the silky sheets of her bed. She was even quicker to leap from her sleepy state, but she was met with pleasant surprise when spindly-fingered hands stopped her in action.

"Myra," Merlin said, "it's good to see you on your feet again. But it'd be good for you to take it easy."

"Oh! But Merlin, I feel much, much better now," she said. "I feel like I can walk again!"

Merlin chuckled softly. "Myra, child, you've been unconscious for hours. This is the first time you'd be walking since Morgan disappeared."

Myra stopped short before she could talk again. "Disappeared? We defeated her, didn't we?"

Merlin gave his pupil a grim look. "This is something I think we should talk about when Arthur is with us," he said.

"Then, can't we go get him now?" Myra wanted to know. "If I'm awake right now, he shouldn't be too far behind."

"I hope so," Merlin said before sighing heavily. "Well, I don't see how I'm ever going to keep you in here when you're like this, Myra, so-"he half-smiled at her "-why don't we go to visit him in his chambers?"

Myra smiled back, and slowly, she got out of bed and followed Merlin through the halls to Arthur's bedchambers. Luckily, his eyes were just fluttering open with the first signs of consciousness.

"Merlin?" he asked, craning his head to look at the doorway.

"Back from Myra's bedchambers," Merlin answered, "and here to see you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She's come with me too, if you should like to say hello."

"Myra?" Arthur said, a smile forming on the corners of his lips.

Myra nodded, sitting down on the bed. She grinned back at Arthur, who was rubbing his eyes sleepily with his newly-bandaged hands. "You feeling better?"

"I feel strange, that's for sure," Arthur answered. "But sleep did good things for me."

"I should be frightened if it didn't," Merlin said, joining Myra on the other side of the bed. "The both of you took good blows with that magic. Quite a bold risk on both your parts, and I can say that I am mighty proud of you."

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur and Myra said, one after the other.

Merlin nodded, but the same grim expression he wore in Myra's room came back to take his smile.

"What's wrong, Merlin?" Arthur wanted to know.

"I really wish I didn't have to be the bearer of bad news," Merlin said, "but this must be said before we get carried away by merry-making. Arthur, you and Myra were of the most courageous heroes I've ever seen in a duel like yours, but I fear that the war is not over between us and Morgan le Fay."

Myra's heart raced so much that she shivered. "You can't be saying that!" she said with a shake of her head. "I practically put every drop of magic I had into defeating her. And what about poor Arthur? He and the sword almost got destroyed when he jumped on Morgan; _we _almost got killed when she cast that huge spell at the end! What more has to happen?"

Merlin took Myra's hands gently. "Child, it often takes more than one battle to finish what's been started. And there's no denying that Morgan le Fay is a powerful sorceress. It would take the strengths of several people just like you to make her come close to total defeat."

Still, Myra refused to believe her mother was still alive. "I still don't believe it," she said firmly.

Merlin grasped Myra's hands even tighter, and she winced at the suddenness of his move. "Watch what you tell yourself, Myra," he said with an iron-hard tone. "The very last time you deluded yourself to something unpredictable, you almost led yourself and your king into _grave_ danger! And I _won't_ stand for that anymore, do you understand?"

Myra was surprised to hear Merlin speak to her with such force, but she immediately understood his intentions for her. "Yes, Merlin."

"Very good," Merlin praised her with a brief grin, but quickly reversed to seriousness. "Another thing, Myra. I happened to overhear part of the duel before I came in, and I heard you talking with Morgan about a vision you just recently had. What was it- something about…a Battle of Camlann, maybe?"

Myra froze. Merlin couldn't know either! Well, of course he would find out soon. He was a wizard- he could look centuries into the future and even live through it if he so desired. But like Morgan and Arthur, he couldn't learn about it just yet.

"What are you talking about?" Myra asked, trying to hide her growing fear. "I never had a vision about that. I don't even know for the life of me what that battle is. All I said was that Morgan would be wiped off the face of the earth that night."

Merlin furrowed his eyebrows, as if in thought. "Are you sure? Morgan was right about one thing, Myra. The visions you have will always tell you the truth. And something tells me that the vision you told her about, wasn't the vision you really saw."

It took every ounce of willpower Myra had to not run screaming from the room in her fear and frustration about her secret vision.

"Maybe I saw another person." It wasn't a question.

Merlin looked Myra right in the eye, sending her fear to new heights. "Don't lie to me, Myra," he said in his stern-but-gentle voice. "Visions are never unclear. I figure there's something about this particular one that's been troubling you. Why won't you speak up about it?"

Scared and confused, Myra looked back and forth between Arthur and Merlin. Her heart was aching with the hurt she felt in hiding the vision from her friends. She so desperately wanted to get it out of her, but she didn't want to see the hurt on Arthur's face when he would learn of his death. Just seeing that look alone would be enough to scar her for a very long time.

But, then, what if the future could be changed? Perhaps there was a way to spare Arthur's life by changing the course of events that could lead up to this battle.

"Merlin, are my visions always going to come true? One way or another?" Myra asked nervously.

"The future is always uncertain, child," Merlin replied. "I've seen and been into the future several times over the years, and it has changed from what I've seen. Sadly, I can't tell you what sort of power your visions hold. You'll just have to figure that out on your own when it comes."

So there was no knowing what would happen, no matter what she would try to do. Myra was half broken and half relieved by this idea.

"Well, perhaps sometime you would like to talk with me about this troubling vision?" Merlin wanted to know, still keeping his calm gaze on Myra.

"I…I…I don't think I'd want to burden you with it," she finally answered. "It's sort of…personal, if I can put it that way."

Merlin didn't take his eyes off of Myra for a few moments, but even when he did, he still had that carefully suspicious look in his eyes. "Whatever you wish, Myra," he said.

Inside, Myra was jumping for joy. But at the same time, she was still crying. She supposed that even without telling anyone of her vision, it sill scarred her. After all, she was terrified contemplating her best friend's death, even if it would be several years from now. And even if she talked to Merlin about it, it would be the same as telling Arthur- she'd be haunting someone with a vision that was almost certain to come true. Merlin always told her he looked to the future to see the advances of mankind, and not the fates of his friends. He wouldn't understand her vision, and knowing Merlin, he would dive deep into researching every possible way of deciphering it, and that would only make it more complicated and horrifying than it already was.

Myra breathed deeply, and then, without any real reason, she scooted closer to Merlin and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Merlin was surprised by this unexpected affection, but he slowly moved to hug Myra back.

"Sorry," Myra said. "I'm just glad to have you and Arthur here…while you are. I love you both, you know that?"

"Well…" Merlin began.

"Yes," Arthur finished.

"Great!" Myra said, with a bit more enthusiasm than she intended. "'Cause I hope I can keep you both with me for a very long time. You're part of the best family someone can ask for."

Merlin shrugged, still half-confused by Myra's sudden outburst of affection, but open to her compliment. "Well, thank you, Myra. It's been a pleasure having you here too, I must say. I suppose…I suppose I myself never thought I would have a family to look after again. And now…" He grinned sweetly.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Myra agreed. After such an adventure she and Arthur had defeating a wicked witch, it felt so wonderful having him and Merlin with her and knowing that they would be there to look after her as she would for them.

And as I promised, Myra thought, I'm going to see to it that nothing dangerous will come Arthur's way. While I'm around, nothing will _dare _touch him.

Briefly, Myra's eyes closed as she envisioned herself once more protecting Arthur in the face of danger. But this time, she could see herself as a young woman, fighting like a real warrior princess alongside her king, who, like always, brandished the marvelous sword. As long as she kept her head on straight, remembered brain over brawn, and held on until she could do absolutely no more in the end, she would surely watch Arthur become the great legend he was destined to be.

There was one uncertainty to this future.

As she imagined this all turning into a bright, golden future for the kingdom of all England, she didn't feel any grinding or pain in any corner of her mind.


	22. Set In Stone

**Chapter 22: Set In Stone**

The battle behind them, Arthur and Myra felt as if life could go back to normal. But first, as a result of the great battle scars they received, their bedchambers would be the only place they would be seeing for a few more days.

As he had done when they were unconscious, Merlin visited his pupils' individual chambers, each time telling them how proud he was of what they had accomplished in the face of tremendous peril. He repeated how he had never seen such amounts of courage and perseverance from any other individuals, marveling at how they had put their minds to the task at hand and not hesitating to do what they had to do.

As Arthur and Myra recovered from what Merlin called their crowning achievement in their schooling, the days changed with them. The snow was all finally gone, and flowers were budding through in the landscapes. Birds were spreading their songs in the morning light, and the two friends took pleasure in hearing such beautiful music. In fact, every morning, Myra was waking up extra early just to watch the sunrise from her window, which had a view over the hill where she and Arthur had first sled during the winter.

Back before all this happened, she thought. Myra smiled, thinking of all that had occurred since New Year's Day, sometimes even wondering where she would be if she hadn't thought to leave home that fateful night. Tabitha wouldn't be sleeping in an actual warm home, Myra wouldn't have known she was a princess, and neither of the siblings would have found more of their family, which had become even more wonderful with the additions of Arthur, Merlin, and Archimedes.

Finally, when March gave way to April, normalcy had returned in its entirety to the castle. Arthur and Myra were free to roam around the castle whenever they wished, lessons were again in full swing, and the gashes left from battle had healed, save for some scars they would keep to proudly remember that night. Merlin even kindly asked Myra if she would like to continue her magical education, and she gratefully accepted.

Since the battle, Myra had never been happier practicing her magic again. Now whenever she learned a new spell, she would laugh with joy the time that she got it right. And on occasion, when afternoon break came, and Myra was still brimming with energy, Arthur would immediately retrieve the sword, and the two of them would practice magic together combining their abilities. Since that began, Arthur's face would break out in a smile more often, and it warmed the hearts of everyone in the castle when their king had a genuine smile upon his face.

As if that wasn't enough, when Myra made the request, Arthur allowed for Amos to officially come and live in the castle with his children. Myra was more than happy to have him with them, but Merlin, on the other hand, wasn't so sure.

Although he didn't make it his business to use magic to peek into others' minds, Merlin decided that doing so to Amos might prove if he was someone safe to have around the castle's inhabitants, especially Arthur. And when Merlin did, he got surprising results.

"Myra," he said to her just after lessons ended one day, "do you remember what you said to me about your father threatening you and Tabitha with an axe?"

Such a memory made Myra freeze over in brief horror, but she nodded as she so quickly pictured the event.

"I checked up on him, you could say," Merlin continued, "and he has no memory at all of the incident, or anything else that happened just after Morgan vanished from your lives."

"How can that…?" Myra began to ask the question, but she quickly put the pieces together herself. "Morgan did it, didn't she? She must've put a spell on him so that _he_ would kill me before I ever learned I was a witch."

"Your guess is as good as mine, child," Merlin said, "but I'd say that comes about as close as we'll ever be to the answer. The man can't even remember what illness killed Morgan, but he does remember the night you were conceived. Selective memory from the spell, I believe."

Myra nodded in understanding. It was good enough for her that her real father was back, and they could live happily together again like in her childhood. With her true father back in the picture, what more could happen that would make life any better than it was now?

Well, some things could take _away_ from it.

Sometimes, Myra found herself reliving the horrifying vision of Arthur in his coffin on Avalon in her dreams. She would wake up in a cold sweat, her bed sheets tousled so much that her legs were complexly tangled in the jumble. And even when she took deep breaths, she still saw the moonlight in the window shining like the sun onto a mirage-like Arthur, dead amongst the flowers and mourners. There were times when Myra woke up from the nightmare and would be a needle-width away from running to Arthur's chamber, telling him the vision, and being done with it. She was always able to regain some control over her thoughts, but the lingering horror she always felt stuck with her though the night. Only when morning came and she could dive into lessons did she lose memory of her nightmare.

Although Myra had come to love her magic again, she and Arthur still liked to take walks out in the spring air, sometimes going out just to play in the landscapes and roll through the grass until they were in need of a soapy bath. And by mid-April, they didn't even need their cloaks anymore, which made it easier for them to run around in the fresh, warm air. During those times, they shared many good times, thousands of laughs- just the kind of times they both longed to have since they could remember.

But it was times like this that reminded Myra it was just a matter of time before she lost what was most important to her.

Sooner than expected, spring bloomed into summer, and by that time, every child in the castle had grown up just a bit. Arthur and Myra were both thirteen years old, and little Tabitha had spurted a few inches, becoming too large for a crib. And after a fun excursion through the castle, Arthur and Myra had located a room not too far from their own chambers where Tabitha could sleep in her own bed and finally have room for all her new playthings. Neither Myra nor Amos could be more proud of her, and for the first time since his welcome to the castle, Amos genuinely smiled and then laughed from the bottom of his heart.

Since summer began, Merlin had recognized his pupils' needs to enjoy the weather and what was left of their young years, so he decided to let Arthur and Myra take every Saturday and Sunday off entirely. On those days, they would practice magic some more, unwind in the library with some fiction, or even go back outside to play as a trio with Tabitha.

By this time, Myra was starting to recognize what toll her nightmarish vision would have on her if she didn't let it free in the slightest. So, she finally made up her mind. Before autumn came around, she promised herself that she would tell Arthur of her vision and allow the commencement of preparations for such an event to take place. She wasn't sure of what the final outcome would be, but she was about ready to rid herself of the tensions it built inside her.

On one day, near the end of July, Arthur and Myra were lucky enough to be outside just when the summer sun was setting over the hills. The sky was perfectly clear, with only a few wispy clouds lingering overhead, with the sounds of cicadas and the twinkling of fireflies sweetly accompanying the beautiful spectacle. Myra paused in her gleeful laughter just long enough to sit down on the hill- the hill where the sledding and other such wonderful memories had taken place. She sighed softly in watching the large golden light sinking below the green trees and hills. Arthur sat down next to her, sweeping his blonde bangs from his face when a cool evening breeze started up.

"I just don't believe it," Myra said, grinning at the sun. "It's gorgeous out there."

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "I really don't think I've known a summer as fun as this has been."

"It really makes having a best friend even more worthwhile," Myra added.

Arthur nodded, a smile starting to form on his face.

It's now or never, Myra told herself. I have to tell him about the vision.

But, unexpectedly, Myra was caught off guard by Arthur's expression. He had that smile that told her he was wholeheartedly happy, and that all would always be right with the world. And with his gaze following the sun and his bangs blowing back from his face, he looked the true picture of a great king and yet a jovial young boy. Myra couldn't quite believe it, but it didn't feel at all right to break an expression that heart-warming from his face.

Myra sighed, and finally pushed her hair behind her ears to begin. "Say, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Say, you…you remember how I really, really wanted to become your guardian?"

He nodded.

"Well, how would you like it if we became each other's guardians? You know, fighting to protect _each other_ like we did when Morgan came back for the last time?"

Arthur's gaze flicked back and forth between Myra's hopeful expression and the setting sun, and finally he gave a little sigh. "Well, that's something I'd have to think about."

Myra smiled, and then laughed.

"Why shouldn't we?" Arthur answered, grinning widely again. "I couldn't have done anything without your help, Myra. I think it'd be a great idea if you're there all the time to help me."

"Do you think that…even if you go to war with another great evil villain, and you're standing just inches from death…you'll still let me in to save you?"

"Just like if it's happening to you? Yes."

Myra laughed again, gently swinging her arm around Arthur's shoulders to hug him, all the while suppressing the urge to peck him on the cheek; Arthur soon wrapped his own arm around her too. "Merlin said that the future isn't set in stone, but it can still be changed. I think you'll make one of the most marvelous kings the world will ever know. And I'll be right there, through thick and thin, no matter what will happen."

"To the very end?" Arthur added.

"That's right," Myra said, as the sun finally dipped below the rolling hills. "To the very end."


End file.
